


Into the Woods

by TheMarvelousMadMadamMim



Series: Softly and Tenderly, We Begin (Hackle Summer Trope Challenge) [8]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, Hackle Summer Trope Challenge, Hurt/Comfort, Save Circe!, Week 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-06-22 22:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 50,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15592158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim/pseuds/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim
Summary: All that they've become is put to the test when Hecate tries to rescue her sister--and Ada tries to save Hecate from her self.Week 8/8 in the Hackle Summer Trope Challenge.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You, you there! Have you read the rest of the stories in this series before coming here. No? Then turn right around and read them. We haven't the time to catch you up.

“It’s Circe. Someone—I don’t know—they took her!”

Dimity Drill’s words reverberated in Hecate’s brain, warbled and distorted. No, that couldn’t be right. She’d misheard, she’d imagined it, she’d hallucinated somehow.

But no. Drill, for all her ridiculous jokes, wasn’t smiling. And the horror on the girls’ faces assured her that this was very real. Horribly, horribly real.

Without any actual thought, Hecate immediately transferred to the roof. The night sky was empty, seemingly innocent of whatever crime had just occurred. She reached out with her magic, searching for her sister. She even tried seeking out any other magic outside the castle, any other witches in the area.

Nothing.

* * *

Ada was still frozen on the spot, mind reeling. The girls were crowding around her, instinctively searching for comfort and shelter, but she had no words for them, no way to allay their fears.

But they had more than enough words of their own, tumbling over each other, shaking and scared: "Miss Cackle, they just came out of nowhere—"

"It all happened so fast!"

"And they screamed—"

"Miss Drill tried to stop them, but they started attacking us and she had to shield—"

"Circe wasn't moving, she wasn't moving at all, Miss Cackle..."

Ada's eyes locked onto Dimity's, whose grave face silently informed her that every word was true. Dimity was disheveled, the harrowed look in her eyes aging her by a decade.

A shock wave ripped through the castle, the force of the magic contained within as keen and sharp as a physical wail.

 _Hecate_.

With another glance at Dimity, who merely nodded as she moved to take over the girls, Ada transferred away, to wherever Hecate was. She found herself on the roof, glancing around to see Hecate, hands splayed at her sides like talons, face turned to the dark sky in distress.

She felt Ada beside her, turning quickly to push out the words between panicked pants. “I can’t find her, Ada, I can’t _feel_ her—”

“Breathe, Hecate.” Ada commanded. “You’re no use to your sister if you’re passed out from lack of oxygen.”

Hecate nodded in agreement, eyes wide as she tried to obey. Ada placed her hands on her shoulders, “Now think. Who would take Circe?”

“I-I-I don’t know. She never really—she doesn’t spend time with people, Ada. Her best friends are _badgers_. She once mentioned that she traveled around a bit but she never—there were never any names, any mention of other witches—” Hecate stopped, her heart breaking as she confessed, “I’ve never even _been_ to her home.”

She leaned forward, hands covering her face, nails digging into her flesh as she hissed, “I'm useless, _worse_ than useless!”

Ada clutched at her wrists, pulling her away from her own claws. She'd never seen Hecate so out of control—the fear inspired by this new creature would have been overwhelming, if Ada hadn’t been able to focus on the fact that Hecate needed her, more than ever before. She had to stay calm, for both of them.

Hecate couldn’t keep her mind from reeling. Nothing made sense, nothing could help her now. As usual, she hadn't paid enough attention, hadn't asked the right questions, hadn't learned the things that mattered most. And now Circe would suffer for her selfishness and ignorance.

“Hecate,” Ada’s voice, calm and stern, brought her back. She looked into those blue eyes, eyes that could never lie to her, shining in the darkness like north stars. “Hecate, we will find her, I promise you. Now, you haven’t been to her house, but you’ve seen it—you gave her a mirror, the last time she was here. You’ve had a mirror call with her since then, haven’t you?”

The younger woman nodded quickly, her face awash with understanding—if she could picture a room, then she could transfer into it. A more taxing spell, but she didn’t care. She’d give up all her magic without hesitation, if it meant her sister was safely returned. She’d give her life.

“I should—I should be prepared. For anything,” Hecate’s breathing was slowing down. Ada’s hands were still around her wrist, bringing her back to earth, back into her own body.

Ada gave a single, curt nod. She let go, let Hecate transfer to her potions storeroom to prepare for her journey. She returned to the great hall, where the girls were still twittering and crying. Gwen and Algernon had joined them, as well as a few other staff, who were all helping Dimity organize the girls around the fire with hot mugs of tea.

“How is she?” Dimity asked, face tinged with regret and worry. Ada was certain that whatever had happened during Circe’s kidnapping, Dimity had tried her best to stop it.

“Not well,” Ada admitted. Not that anyone could blame her. “She’s going to Circe’s home, to see what clues she can find about who might have taken her.”

“And you’re going too, right?”

Ada nodded quickly, without a moment's hesitation. Due to the holidays, almost three-quarters of the student population was away with family, while the full staff had remained. As for the staff, most had been here for as long as Ada had been teaching, long before her time as headmistress. They were all perfectly capable of holding down the castle while she and Hecate were away.

"Safe travels," the flying instructor placed a hand on Ada's shoulder. “And…tell HB I’m sorry.”

Ada offered another small smile before transferring away. She knocked on the door of the potions storeroom, which Hecate answered almost immediately.

“I’m coming with you,” she announced, magicking her winter cloak and hat.

“But…Ada,” Hecate breathed her name like a prayer. “I can’t ask you to—”

“You don’t have to ask,” Ada moved forward, placing her hands on Hecate’s upper arms, blue eyes shining with sincerity. “You never did.”

Hecate was blinking rapidly, trying to fight back tears of relief and love.

“Besides,” Ada tried to smile, tried to make Hecate smile in turn. “The transfer to Circe’s place will most likely be very difficult. You need me, just in case.”

“Always,” Hecate returned, her soft tone filled with fervent certainty.

“Now,” Ada offered her hand. “Shall we try to call Circe on the mirror one last time? It should give you a good view of the room, to hold in your mind.”

Hecate nodded in agreement, quickly grabbing a few more potions and placing them in a velvet pouch, which she attached to her belt—normally she would just send them into vanishment, but she wasn’t sure that she’d have the power left to do that, after the transfer. Then she took Ada’s hand and let her transfer them to her chambers, where she easily found the card to summon Circe’s mirror.

The room was dark, and Hecate leaned forward with a squint, trying to take in as much detail as possible. Then, she looked back at Ada, “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Hecate took Ada’s right hand, cupped both of her hands around it, and closed her eyes. After a hesitant ripple, Ada felt her body being pulled away.

* * *

The first sensation to greet Ada was the freezing air inside the small cottage. Not surprising, since Circe had been away. She looked over at Hecate, who was holding her stomach lightly, as if rattled by the effort required to transfer them over such a great distance. She knew the younger woman was a witch of considerable power and even greater skill—while she had no idea how far they’d traveled, she felt certain that under non-stressful circumstances, Hecate would have been much less drained by the spell.

“How do you feel?” She asked gently.

Hecate merely shook her head, not ready to answer that question. Ada understood, casting her own spell to light the fire and a few candles which were placed around the room.

The cottage was quaint, but it was not cozy. _Spartan_ seemed the most apt descriptor. It was a single room, with a table, one chair, and only the most basic living necessities. There wasn't even a bed.

“Not big on material possessions, is she?” Ada commented, desperate to fill the tense silence as Hecate slowly circled the room. She reached up, lightly trailing her fingers through the herbs hanging from the rafters. Circe, for all her modernity and vibrancy, kept a house of rustic simplicity.

“This is more of a storage space than anything,” Hecate admitted quietly. “She doesn’t sleep indoors, unless the weather is bad.”

Hecate continued her circular tour of the room, dark eyes scanning for anything out of place. Ada looked around as well, giving a small hum as she inspected a trinket on the mantle above the fire. It was a silver elephant, tarnished with age, the kind of thing given to a young child. “Seems she did keep a few sentimental items.”

Hecate frowned, clipping across the wood floor to inspect the item. “Toys were frivolities that encouraged idleness and distraction. They were not allowed.”

Ada’s heart ached at the confession and how easily Hecate delivered it. Thankfully Hecate didn’t notice her pity, already too absorbed in thought, turning the little elephant over in her hands, dexterous fingers probing over every centimeter of its smooth surface.

Then she gasped softly, her tone filled with wonder. “It’s a memory keeper.”

Given her sister’s aptitude, it wasn’t too surprising that Circe Hardbroom had some powerful abilities of her own—but a memory keeper, now _that_ wasn’t something you came across every day. Aside from a high degree of magical skill, one needed patience, precision, and a lot of focus. Ada had to admit, it was a little difficult to imagine the wild and chaotic young woman she’d come to know, performing an enchantment that required so much control.

“Oh, Circe,” Hecate murmured, her face filling with warm adoration. “You never cease to amaze.”

Memory keepers, as their name implied, were inanimate objects enchanted with the memories of their owners—sometimes their entire lives, sometimes specific memories that needed to be preserved for posterity. Circe would have spent a lot of time, transferring her remembrances into this seemingly worthless object.

And she’d hidden it in plain sight. Hecate knew her sister well enough to know that Circe had done this for her. Living alone in the wilderness meant that any number of tragedies might befall her—and she’d wanted to give Hecate as many answers as possible, if anything did happen.

But one still needed a key to open it. Some phrase or word. It had to be something Hecate would guess, yet something obscure enough that only she would know it.

On the underside of the elephant, there was an etching of a crescent moon. Understanding flooded her veins. She quietly recited words that she had not spoken for decades, her goodnight wish to Circe, when she was merely a child, “A pleasant rest, to the one I love best.”

The line of the elephant’s back began to glow eerily, projecting memories into the darkened room, as if upon a screen. The first ones were hazy, brief flashes rather than coherent recollections. They were all from a young Circe’s point of view—Hecate’s face, thirty years ago, leaning forward with a smile like the sun. Hecate holding her arms, swinging her in a circle, eyes dancing with delight. Hecate asleep, so close to Circe’s face that she couldn’t properly focus on her features in the dim candlelight. Their parents, in the parlor, raised voices and clenched fists, suddenly obscured by a dark skirt—Circe’s gaze traveling up it, further still to Hecate’s face, lined with worry as she scooped her up and moved down the hall. The outline of Hecate’s profile, in a dark and cramped closet. Hecate, offering a reassuring smile, the fear still evident in her eyes. Hecate lighting up the claustrophobic darkness with an illusion of little glowing butterflies, smiling gently at Circe's reaction. At the corner of a doorway, watching Hecate and her mother speak, the sudden sharp slap that came with violent surprise, whipping Hecate's young frame sideways.

Ada watched these memories, feeling uneasy, as if she were spying, or at the very least intruding. She shifted slightly, but Hecate’s quiet voice stopped her.

“Stay.” Her eyes never left the screen of memory playing before her, her voice trembling slightly as she continued, “If we are to…if this continues between us, you will have to know these things anyways. To be honest, it’s easier this way—I won’t have to find the words to tell you, later on.”

Ada hummed in understanding, now moving closer to Hecate, placing her hand on the small of Hecate’s back, silently reassuring her while also reminding her that these were only memories, and she was still here, now, perfectly safe.

“That only happened once,” Hecate murmured, more concerned with comforting Ada than her own feelings at reliving the moment. With a humorless quirk of her lips, she added, “Mother never was one for physical displays, affectionate or otherwise.”

Ada felt an odd mixture of relief and anguish at the confession, but she told herself to keep watching. Now she viewed these hazy recollections with a keener eye, feeling less like a voyeur, understanding that Hecate _needed_ her to see these things. She saw Hecate’s parents again, and didn’t much care for what she did see. Saw her brothers, saw family dinners and holiday celebrations (if they could be called such), saw Hecate grow up and go away, leaving Circe behind with a sorrowful expression and profusions of love and reassurances that she would return _soon, soon, it won’t be long at all, my dove_. Saw a young Pippa Pentangle, in an atrocious bright orange ensemble. That memory made Hecate give a light snort of amusement, and Ada couldn’t help but smile, too. Thank goodness the woman had switched to pink.

Hecate reached out, swiping across the holograph, making the memories speed by faster, too fast to register their images. Quietly, she explained, “There’s over thirty years’ worth of memories, we haven’t the time for all of them.”

Ada nodded in agreement and understanding. Hecate finally came to memories of Circe’s visit to the academy. Ada’s eyes were wide with rapt surprise as she saw the way Hecate had looked at her, whenever Ada wasn’t watching. And obviously, Hecate saw the same thing in Ada’s former self.

“Goodness, we were quite oblivious, weren’t we?” Ada stated the absolute obvious. Hecate hummed in agreement. She shifted back slightly, leaning into the hand that Ada still had pressed to the small of her back. Her way of assuring her that those days were long gone. Ada bit back a smile.

Finally, they reached memories of the past few weeks. Hecate slowed them down, searching the edges for any clues, any face that might seem familiar (there were very few other people in these memories, making it a bit easier). But there was nothing, no moment that leapt out at them, no hint as to any impending kidnappers. The memories ended with Circe shuttering the cottage, as if she were going away for a while.

“She must have added her last memories, just before she came to Cackle’s,” Hecate surmised. She was no longer panicked, which Ada took as a good sign, though her body still radiated fear. During the memory watching, she’d calmed down a bit, holding on to hope that this would give them a clue. It hadn’t and now her anxiety was threatening to come back full force.

There was a light ripple against Ada’s skin. Frowning slightly, she tried to catalogue the sensation. It came again, with a magical signature that she knew well.

“Dimity’s sent a summoning spell,” Ada informed her. While Dimity didn’t have the power to pull them across such a great distance, she could still make her presence felt magically, and that was all she needed. With worried eyes, she gave Hecate a critical once-over, “Do you think you can transfer us back?”

Hecate nodded, closing her eyes for a brief moment, as if double-checking her own strength. “Yes, but I don’t think I’ll be able to do much after that.”

“That’s alright.” Ada assured her. She didn’t dare tell her what she had planned, once they returned to the academy. Hoped her plan wouldn't be necessary, but feared it would be.

Hecate took her hand, and away they went again.

* * *

Dimity was anxiously pacing in Ada’s office when they appeared, practically pouncing on them with nervous energy. She held up a splintered bit of wood. “I got it! When one of the witches swooped in to grab Circe, I sent a blazing bolt her way. I knew I’d winged her, but it wasn’t until we went back and combed over the front lawn that I realized I must have shattered the handle of her broom.”

“Admirably done, Dimity, but how does that help us, exactly?” Ada wanted this to truly be some kind of solution, but she couldn’t allow herself to fully hope, just yet.

“The Mists of Time,” Dimity was directing her words to Hecate now. “We can do just like we did with the Wailing Wishmaker—maybe it will give us some clue as to the owner—”

“And if we can find her, we can find Circe,” Hecate finished, her eyes wide with amazement. “Dimity Drill, you really are a clever witch.”

One day, when all this was over, Dimity would be sure to never let her live this down.

Hecate took the piece of broomstick and moved to transfer away—however, she only stumbled slightly, suddenly hazy and confused.

“I’ve—the other transfers, they were too much,” she realized, her face filled with distress.

Without a second’s hesitation, Ada snapped her fingers, taking all three of them to the potions storeroom. Hecate quickly found the bottled Mists of Time, and soon the broom handle was floating backwards, throughout the years of its inanimate lifespan.

A pair of hands gripped it tightly, an oddly-designed bangle glinting in the moonlight.

“I know that hand,” Hecate murmured, her eyes wide with wonder.

“You do?” Dimity was surprised.

Hecate nodded, turning to the flying instructor. “It’s the same hand that created the Wailing Wishmaker. I remember the bangle.”

“So the same person who tried to trap Ada in an alternate reality is also responsible for kidnapping Circe?” Dimity’s face skewed in confusion. “But how are they connected?”

“Through Hecate,” Ada softly interjected. Dimity gave a small nod of agreement and Hecate merely looked at her, thoroughly confused as to why she would ever be the target of anyone’s interest.

Suddenly, they got a glimpse of the face attached to that hand, and Ada gave a small gasp, “And I know that face—I don’t know the witch personally, but she was at the Samhain ritual in the Hallowed Hills.”

“Ada, there must have been close to a hundred witches at that ceremony,” Hecate’s voice was gentle, yet lined with cautious concern. “Are you certain she was one of them?”

Dimity had no clue what they were talking about, but she wisely kept silent.

Ada nodded adamantly. “Trust me, I had a good, long look. I noticed her because she kept—she was staring at us. At you, I assumed. And I…I glared at her, until she finally looked away.”

The corner of Hecate’s mouth quirked into the briefest of smiles. The idea of a possessive Ada Cackle wasn’t entirely unpleasant. The idea that months ago, other people were watching them, assuming they were a couple, was also appealing.

Dimity Drill cleared her throat gently, silently reminding them that there was a third witch in the room.

Hecate quickly refocused on the new information. “So…what is all this, exactly? Some witch sees us at a ritual, then a month later tries to trap you, and then a month after that, steals my sister? That doesn’t make sense.”

“It does if she thought Circe was you,” Dimity pointed out. She held up her hands, “Think about it. You two do look very much alike—especially from a distance. And if she’s only ever seen you at night, there’s even less distinguishable difference. Circe looked like you, and she was here, at the Academy.”

“But why kidnap me?” Hecate frowned. “That doesn’t make any more sense than targeting Circe.”

“Because neither of you were the target,” Dimity’s voice was low and heavy with certainty. She'd had some time to consider the various options, over the past few hours, her brain picking at possible reasons like a rubik's cube. She hadn't wanted to say anything, not until they had more clues, but now it seemed like the pieces just fell into place. Her gaze flicked over to her headmistress. “It’s been…rather quiet on the Agatha front lately, hasn’t it?”

Ada suddenly understood. “Her coven is still determined to bring her back.”

No one had to mention Marigold Mould, or her attempt to infiltrate the school and destroy its founding stone, all to unleash Agatha from her confinement. No one had to discuss the odd amount of devotion she seemed to instill in certain witches, who’d go to any lengths, do anything she asked.

“But…trapping Ada, what does that do?” Hecate frowned. Then she understood. “Unless it was punishment for trapping Agatha.”

“So, what, now they’ll trap Circe?” Dimity cocked her head to one side. Hecate lurched forward, as if she were going to stop them right then and there, but stopped herself, looking both sheepish and enraged.

“We’re not looking at this properly,” Ada gently redirected the line of thought. “They want Agatha back—getting rid of us doesn’t accomplish that. They need us.”

“Because we’re the ones who bound Agatha—us two, and the Great Wizard,” Hecate’s voice filled with quiet revelation. Her face contorted in sorrowful understanding as she looked over at Ada, “But you’d only really need to trap one of us. Because the other would come to save them—and two out of three is enough to undo the spell.”

“You would _never_ unleash Agatha again,” Dimity retorted quickly. Their uneasy expressions made her reconsider—what wouldn’t these two fools do, to save the other? What hadn’t they done already?

Neither headmistress nor deputy was brazen enough to lie and agree with Miss Drill’s words. Instead, Hecate quietly pointed out, her face filled with uneasy hesitation, “There are…ways. Ways to use our magic without our consent.”

“Blood magic,” Dimity breathed the words, almost too afraid to speak them aloud. The potions mistress gave a single nod of confirmation.

“And now they think they’ve gotten one of the two witches they need to break the enchantment,” Hecate’s entire being turned to ice at the thought. “We have to find them, to rescue Circe before—”

“They can’t do anything with just her,” Ada interjected. “And we need to properly plan our approach before we do anything—”

“Normally I would agree wholeheartedly, Ada, but my _sister_ —”

“Needs us to be at our best, which means we _must_  have a solid plan in place,” Ada cut her off. Unfortunately, Hecate was reacting just as Ada thought she would, which was the exact opposite of what they needed right now. Still, she tried to reason with her, “We will only have one chance to get this right, Hecate, you know that. Agatha’s coven is filled with dark and powerful witches, and I’m sure they’ve only grown in strength—tonight surely proves that theory.”

Hecate stepped forward, pulling herself to her full height. “I don’t give a damn about _theories_ —”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Ada admitted. She reached out, cupping Hecate’s cheek in her hand. “I’m sorry, Hecate, truly, I am.”

And with that, she sent her deputy into an immediate sleep—a spell that normally wouldn’t work on a witch as powerful as Hecate Hardbroom, but her depleted energy weakened her just enough for it to be a success. The woman's thin frame slumped forward, Ada quickly catching her and gently lowering her body to the floor.

“What have you done?” Dimity was in absolute shock, mouth agape. What was happening, how was this real life anymore?

“She’s in no state to take on anyone, much less an entire coven of witches driven by a need for revenge,” Ada looked up, face set in defiance. “They won’t do anything with Circe tonight—they need a full moon to harness the kind of power necessary to break the enchantment, and they need me. I expect we’ll get some kind of ransom demand soon.”

“And what if you’re wrong?” Dimity’s voice was tiny, impossibly so. “What if they realize that Circe isn’t her sister, and decide that they have absolutely no use for her?”

Ada gave a sigh, her bones feeling like lead. “I can’t entertain such thoughts, Dimity. And I can’t lose Hecate—which is exactly what would happen, if she went after the coven tonight.”

That was Hecate’s greatest weakness—her complete disregard for her own wellbeing, her inability to place value on her own life. She’d willingly sacrifice herself again and again, for the ones she loved. Ada knew this, better than most. She gambled so easily with her life, and it had paid off, so far—but every gamble had been with better odds, with her powers fully restored and able to truly defend her against an attack. Right now, taking on any witch, regardless of skill, would be akin to charging into battle with a daisy for a weapon.

"She's going to be particularly unhappy when she wakes up," Dimity pointed out the obvious.

Ada hummed in agreement. “But at least she’ll be alive.”

Yes, Hecate would be livid at Ada, once she reawakened. And most likely hurt—Ada knew her actions would be seen a betrayal, a way of declaring that she didn't trust Hecate or her judgment, and while that was technically true in regards to this specific situation, Hecate would apply that lack of faith to every other aspect of their past, present, future, professional and personal life. The woman was all or nothing. Ada only hoped that she could calm Hecate down enough to listen to her, to give her the chance to explain.

She wouldn't ask for forgiveness, though. She couldn't regret something that kept Hecate alive. And deep down, she knew Hecate would have done the exact same thing, if the roles were reversed. She just needed to make sure that Hecate realized that, too.

The headmistress gently reached out, tracing the outline of her deputy’s face with regretful tenderness. Again, Dimity felt as if she was witnessing something she wasn’t supposed to.

“Alright,” she took a deep breath, still trying to recover from all that she’d just seen. Despite the dramatic turn of events, she still trusted Ada Cackle, still knew that her approach was the best solution. “What’s the plan?”

“First, we get Hecate to her chambers, let her get some rest,” Ada informed her, voice still soft with concern and love. “Then, I think it’s time we reached out to Miss Pentangle.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, we're just not gonna talk about how I lobbed a live grenade in your laps and waltzed off for 3+ weeks.   
> But, like...thanks for taking me back.

Pippa Pentangle was in the middle of asking a very charming woman named Cherié to join her for a glass of sherry (not her poison of choice, but really, she couldn’t pass up the wordplay) when the mirror in her office began to chime and ripple.

“Perhaps you should answer that,” Cherié was smiling languidly, a good sign. Pippa kept her eyes locked on the woman for just a beat more, making sure that she knew they would return to this conversation very, very soon.

Not that she was wildly attracted to Cherié. But she had a pretty face, a quick wit, and a particularly lovely new position on the school inspection committee. Pippa had learned long ago that it definitely helped to have friends in high places, and made a habit of being the friendliest headmistress in her region.

She glanced over at the mirror, fully prepared to tell the caller to _fuck right off_ (though she'd do so in a much more diplomatic way, of course). However, the moment she saw Ada Cackle's worried face peering back at her, her thoughts shifted entirely.

“What is it?” Pippa didn’t even bother with pleasantries. Anyone calling this late with that facial expression certainly wasn’t bringing glad tidings.

“It’s Hecate—”

“No,” Pippa breathed, clutching her chest. Hiccup had done something stupid, something noble, and now she was gravely injured or dead.

“She’s alright,” Miss Cackle must have read the alarm in her face, holding up her hands to allay Pippa's fears. “At least physically.”

Now Miss Cackle’s blue eyes flitted just over Pippa’s shoulder, to the woman still seated in front of her desk. Pippa understood, turning to offer an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid this is rather important. Perhaps we can continue our discussion another time?”

Cherié merely nodded, wishing Miss Pentangle a pleasant evening before leaving the office, presumably to fly back to her own office and write a glowing report on the academy and its headmistress.

Pippa turned back to the mirror, eyebrows quirking in concern once more, “What is going on, Miss Cackle?”

The other headmistress quickly brought her up to speed, and Pippa realized the part she would play in this plan, “So you want me to contact the organizers for the Hallowed Hills ritual and get the guest list, I presume?”

Miss Cackle nodded, expression filling with unease. “I know it’s a rather big favor—”

“Anything for Hecate.” She meant it, every word. Oh, there wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do, to prove her contrition, to find her way back to being close with her beloved Hiccup. Especially since their last parting hadn’t been on the best of terms—yes, Hecate had been grateful for Pippa’s help in restoring Ada Cackle to her rightful place as headmistress, but that didn’t fully negate the fact that Pippa had committed the egregious sin of ever thinking to oust Ada in the first place. The distrust was still there, simmering just beneath the surface, looking for a reason to spring forth again.

That had been a hard wound to heal, knowing she could never have Hecate’s loyalty the way Miss Cackle did, realizing that Hecate didn’t wish for the swift return of their good old days like Pippa did. Pippa had thrown herself into a physically satisfying, albeit emotionally disconnected, fling with an education board member and his wife. Followed by a return to an on-again off-again flame (currently off), and her current soon-to-be conquest, charming Cherié. Perhaps not the healthiest form of closure, Pippa could admit, but still a rather rewarding distraction.

“Thank you, Miss Pentangle,” Miss Cackle’s voice brought her back from her musings.

“I…I would like to come to Cackle’s. To see Hecate, if that’s alright,” Pippa felt a measure of irritation in even needing to ask.

“Please do,” the other headmistress didn’t hesitate, and Pippa was grateful for that. With a wry smile, she added, “I have the feeling we'll need all the help we can get, convincing Miss Hardbroom not to charge headlong into goddess-only-knows-what.”

Pippa nodded, thanked Miss Cackle, and ended the call. She grabbed her hand-held mirror and placed a call to the Hallow Hills ritual organizer, clipping around her office to collect her cloak and broom.

The familiar face appeared, and Pippa pasted on her most winning smile. She had some bargaining and cajoling ahead of her, still a small price to pay for a chance to help when Hiccup needed her most.

* * *

 

Dimity waited until Ada had finished her mirror call with Miss Pentangle before quietly asking, “Now what?”

Ada sighed, from the depths of her bones. “Now is the hardest part: waiting. Once we have a guest list, we can start searching. Until then, we all need to rest and recover.”

Dimity nodded in agreement. After a small silence, she spoke the thing that she knew was on Ada’s mind. “She will forgive you, you know.”

Ada looked at her, painful hesitancy filling the corners of her eyes. “Not if we don’t reach Circe in time.”

Truth be told, Dimity had that exact same thought. But she knew that in this moment, Ada didn’t need someone to agree with her. She needed someone to give her hope.

“You can’t even let that possibility enter your mind,” Dimity moved forward, her expression filled with earnestness. “We will get her back, safe and sound. We’re _witches_ , Ada. Every word we speak holds magic—and I speak that Circe will be returned, and all will be well.”

The headmistress had to smile fondly at this woman and her faith—yes, there were so many ways in which Dimity and Hecate were alike, though they’d never admit it, not in a thousand years. Ada’s mind couldn’t help but remember the chipper little Drill who’d skipped through these halls thirty years ago, a happy and accident-prone little witch who had held that same unwavering optimism. Now that little girl was standing before her fully grown, a true friend and colleague, a great witch in her own right, reteaching Ada the lessons that Ada had instilled in her, all those years ago. Life was beautiful, wasn’t it? An odd cyclical little mess, with plenty of bright spots in between.

“I’m gonna go check on the girls,” Dimity moved towards the door. Hesitantly, she added, “I think you should, too. They need to see that you’re still here, still in-control. Then you can go to HB.”

Ada didn’t even try to refute the assumption that her only wish was to be with Hecate—she didn’t have the energy to lie or even deflect. She merely nodded in agreement, rising to her feet again and suddenly realizing just how exhausted she was.

Still, she found a warm reassuring smile to offer the girls, who were still preparing for a much-later-than-usual lights out. She told the other staff to let the girls sleep in each other’s beds, let them huddle together and find comfort wherever they could—they’d only just met Circe, but she’d been an instant favorite, and Ada was certain that her kidnapping had been a harrowing experience. A few teachers even volunteered to sleep in the girls’ wing, to help them feel safer. Once again, Ada Cackle was reminded of how grateful she was for the people she’d chosen to help carry this school forward. The academy’s strength lay not in its stone, but in its people—and her people were simply the best. No matter how fervent Agatha’s coven sisters may be, they were no match for Ada’s staff. Though she hoped she wouldn’t have to put that belief to the test.

She knew that there should be a staff meeting, but everyone was too exhausted. So she arranged one for the next morning, and after a few more good nights and reassurances, she transferred to Hecate’s chambers.

It felt odd, at first, being among Hecate’s personal things, unaccompanied and uninvited. Hecate was such a deeply private person that it felt almost obscene, simply standing in her bedroom, although nothing scandalous was in sight.

She magicked a more comfortable chair and placed it next to Hecate’s bedside, smiling slightly as she remembered how their roles were reversed, only a month ago. She couldn’t help but wonder if Hecate would be as pleased as Ada had been, waking to find Hecate still at her bedside, keeping watch.

Swallowing the lump of fear in her throat, Ada pushed the thought away. She had to take Dimity’s advice, only focus on a positive outcome.

But she definitely would have to answer for her actions. Try to show Hecate how necessary they were, how she only did what had to be done, to preserve Hecate.

It was selfishness that drove her, she knew. Of course she wanted Hecate to be safe, wanted her to stay alive, and she knew that the best chance for everyone’s survival included Hecate in full control of her powers. But there was a baser part that cried out to keep Hecate safe, for herself. In the twisted maze of the Wailing Wishmaker’s alternate realities, she’d seen herself lose this woman, in so many painful ways. She wasn’t ready to do that again—and this time, to never get a chance to return, to wake as if from a bad dream to Hecate, still here, still smiling and breathing and wondrously alive.

Surely Hecate could understand that. After all, hadn’t she risked everything to bring Ada back, so many times over?

But there was a difference in risking yourself and risking someone else. Ada was willing to gamble with Circe’s life, in order to save Hecate’s. It was a dangerous line to cross, and time would only tell if it was the right decision.

Well, _Ada_ knew it was the right decision. Whether _Hecate_ would agree…that was the part up for debate.

Still, for now, nothing had been decided. This angsty internal debate could either be the worst part of the whole scenario, or the last moment before things became infinitely worse.

_Take the peace where you can find it_ , her inner voice gently prodded. She reached out, gently taking Hecate’s motionless hand between her own, fingertip tracing over the ridges of those pale knuckles, creating patterns across the back of Hecate’s hand. Patterns that disappeared before they even began. The notion seemed an omen of things to come.

* * *

 

Green Goddess of the Earth, Circe’s head was positively splitting with pain. She gave a low moan, her hands automatically moving towards her head—only her hands couldn’t move, because they were tied behind her back. Circe took a moment to close her eyes again, to take stock of her situation: lying on her left side, arms behind her, on a floor of packed earth. The soil smelled like years of dark dampness, worn smooth by centuries of shuffling feet. The cellar of an old farmhouse, perhaps?

“Well, well, look who’s finally awake.” A voice came from the darkness, low and smoky.

Circe grimaced, “Is it me? Because I can’t really _look_ anywhere. It’s much too dark.”

“Oh, good. She has a sense of humor.” The voice’s tone was in opposition to its words.

“She does,” Circe agreed. Really, she knew that she should be frightened, after all that had happened, but that was probably what they wanted, whoever took her. And Circe wasn’t renowned for being a people-pleaser. She was charming, to be sure, but that was different. People generally found oddities charming, so long as they seemed harmless. Appearing harmless was one of Circe’s greatest feats.

A figure appeared from the shadows, a petite woman with the smile of cat, both irritated and amused, dark hooded eyes weighing and calculating every movement, every step. Every muscle in her tiny body radiated the threat of violence, but Circe had at least half a foot in height on her, an easy four stone in weight, and an inner animal that could tear this woman to pieces, before she could even lose her smug smile.

Of course, Circe didn’t tell her that. It wasn’t any fun, playing all your cards at once.

“I wonder if Miss Cackle is as amused as you are,” the stranger’s voice was honeyed, still filled with surety.

Honestly, Circe was more concerned with her sister’s reaction, but sure, Miss Cackle probably was worried, too, she guessed.

“Do you think your precious Ada is this relaxed?” The stranger pressed again, cocking her head to the side. Circe realized she had the teeth of a predator—rounded yet sharp, perfect for ripping out throats.

_Precious_ Ada? Circe frowned slightly, wondering if the stabbing pain in her head was affecting her hearing.

Wait…oh. _Ohhhhh_.

Circe burst into laughter. This woman thought _she_ was _Heck_!

Oh.

Oh, this was going to be _fun_.

“I don’t see any reason for laughter, Miss Hardbroom,” the stranger had lost her coy amusement with the situation. Even if her facial expression and sharp tone hadn’t been enough of a clue, Circe could feel the anger radiating from her small frame like the heat of a fire.

“No, no, you’re quite right. I’m in terrible danger, I know. But I just—one cannot always control their reaction to stress, can they? I’m a bit of a nervous laugher. Always have been. Once a friend fell from a tree and broke her arm. Awful business, really. Quite painful. And I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Needless to say, she didn’t see the humor in it—and there was none, to be honest. And I didn’t—I didn’t find it funny, even though I did laugh. It was like releasing a spigot of anxiety. Maybe not a spigot—my, I hate that word, don’t you? It’s very…uncouth sounding. A bit _glottal_ , I think. No, glottal’s not the right word, but it is a harsh sounding arrangement of letters, isn’t it? I think—”

“ _Enough_ ,” the stranger hissed, taking a single, solid step forward. Circe looked up at her, slightly perplexed. She kept silent, watching the stranger stalk the edges of the light, obviously thrown off and pissed off by Circe’s reaction to her predicament. Circe tried to take in her features, searching for some clue, some connection that would make this situation make sense. Dark hair, dark eyes that led to low cheekbones which highlighted wide cupid's bow lips and a strong chin. Thin, small frame, swathed in dusky purple robes. No family pendant, no crest stitched into her robes to help Circe identify her blood ties or loyalties. And no familiarity, no recognizable resemblance to anyone she'd ever met. Obviously, it was someone who'd never actually met her sister, or else she would have realized her mistake by now. What could Heck have done to make such a vehement enemy of a complete stranger?

“You know why you’re here,” the other woman was guessing, thinking aloud. “That’s why you’re not asking questions—and you’re not afraid because you truly think you can stop this from happening, don’t you?”

Circe blinked, her big brown eyes wide with genuine confusion, “I’m afraid you've given me much more credit than is warranted—I haven’t the faintest clue. But yes, I will admit that I still believe I can thwart whatever scheme you have planned—sorry, that seems a bit gauche, to say such a thing after you've gone through all the trouble to get me here, but I do believe that honesty is the best policy, generally.”

My, wasn’t she an outright liar? But Circe supposed it was necessary.

The stranger came closer again, leaning over Circe’s prone form with chilling certainty. Her voice was low, thick with barely-contained rage, “We will have Agatha Cackle back, at all costs.”

She crouched down, her hands becoming as gentle as silken doves as she lightly traced the curve of Circe’s cheek, “I am not afraid to spill a little blood in the process, Miss Hardbroom.”

Circe was a consummate liar. As such, she'd learned to recognize sincerity when she saw it.

* * *

 

Ada slept fitfully, every little noise jolting her awake, filling her body with fear. Fear of Hecate finally waking, fear of facing what came next, fear of all that could happen, of all that may never happen again.

However, it wasn’t a sound that alerted her to Hecate’s waking, but rather a sensation—Hecate’s hand, slipping out of hers. She bolted upright, eyes locking onto the younger woman’s face with fear and uncertainty.

Throughout the seemingly endless night, Ada had thought of what she could say to save herself, to prove her point, and now that her chance was here, she realized that she could say nothing, do nothing, prove nothing. Hecate was watching her with careful eyes, and Ada knew that she couldn’t do anything but wait. Wait for condemnation, for forgiveness, for whatever Hecate had to offer. She’d let Hecate rage or cry or yes, even hit her, if it made the woman feel as if she’d somehow taken back a small part of what was lost when Ada took away her energy and her consciousness, if it made them heal, even in the slightest. But she had to let Hecate choose. She couldn’t take another choice away from her. So she waited, and hoped, and feared.

The expression on Ada’s face was enough to break Hecate’s heart into two warring pieces. She hated herself, for how easily she was manipulated by that face—she should be _furious_ , she should be hard and unflinching in her righteous anger, should be quick and cruel and cutting with her words, because after all, Ada did this to herself. And yet here she sat, without a single word to offer, lost and hurt and swirling with conflicting emotions.

Ada had done the unforgivable. They both knew that. She’d violated Hecate’s freewill, had taken away any choice she’d had in the matter, had broken the Witches Code and had used magic against a sister. She’d silently declared her lack of faith in Hecate’s decision-making abilities, had destroyed twenty years’ worth of trust in a single second, had damned them both to this horrible uncertain landscape. And yet…and yet all Hecate could do was fight back the desire to reassure her, to make that fearful expression disappear.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair at all, how deeply she loved this woman, at how easily her stupid, traitorous heart could let go of such sins. And even that wasn’t Ada’s fault.

Hecate blinked back the heat seeping from the corners of her eyes, grinding her teeth together as she tried to rein in the hurricane battering against her ribcage. There was so much to say, and no good way to say it—despite her immediate desire to reassure the blonde, a small and aching part of her still bayed for blood, urging her to spit out venom and blades, to make Ada truly _understand_ the depth of her actions, to make her feel as desolate and wrecked as Hecate felt herself. What could she say, when she wasn’t even sure how it was possible to hold two such conflicting desires in her heart with equal intensity—a desire to protect and a desire to maim, betrayal and forgiveness, love and loathing? And of all the things she could say, all the things she _wanted_ to say, which ones did she really _mean_?

She wanted Ada to speak first, to tell her how to proceed. If Ada was repentant, she could be quieter and calmer, more forgiving. If Ada tried to defend herself, then she could fight, could unleash this uneasy sadness building in her veins, slowly hardening into anger.

But Ada didn’t speak. Ada simply waited, watching her with those crystalline blue eyes, lips pressed into a thin line of apprehension.

Oh, just hours ago, Hecate had been so close to those lips, trembling with the need to taste them, just once, just briefly—and now, she eyed them like a French noble surveying a guillotine. What would they give her, what _could_ they give her? What could possibly be said to undo this damage?

Hecate knew that answer was simpler than it seemed. Goddess above, she’d forgive Ada of almost anything, even when she didn’t particularly think she should. She indulged the woman, much like she’d indulged Circe as a child (much like she still indulged Circe), but for vastly different reasons. Underneath those differing reasons, though, ran the same singular, strong current: love.

But with love came fear. And this was part of what Hecate had feared, too: to love Ada even more deeply than she already did, only to find that love was not returned, or worse, abused. Is that what had happened? She wasn’t sure—wasn’t sure she wanted to know, either.

Ada was impossibly still, anxiously waiting for Hecate to give some kind of response. And even now, even in the midst of this emotional hurricane, Hecate could not deny her. But she needed to be strong, to say the things that needed to be said, as best she could—it was the only way to survive, for both of them. The only way to even attempt coming back. So she turned her eyes away from the woman seated beside her, the woman too much like the sun to her moon, taking a deep breath to keep the tears from her voice. She chose the simplest part. The part that hurt the most.

“You don’t trust me.”

Anger Ada could handle. But the tininess of Hecate’s voice, so brokenhearted and beaten, undid any lingering resolve she had to stand her ground and defend her actions. All the words she’d prepared in her defense withered and blew away, forgotten completely.

Hecate’s dark eyes were glued to the ceiling, shining with unshed tears. With a shaky breath, she continued, “After all this time, Ada. After every time I have deferred to your judgment, trusting your decisions even when I didn’t understand them. After all the ways I have tried to prove myself to you…it wasn’t enough.”

Oh, goddess above. Ada felt her lungs collapse at those words—how she wished that Hecate had been angry, how she wished that she’d yelled and screamed, anything but this. This quiet exhaustion, this defeated confession was more damaging than anything Hecate could have bellowed at her. Ada’s heart rent itself to tatters as she tried to respond, “No, no don’t say that—”

“Say what? The evident truth?” Hecate shook her head again. She still hadn’t looked back at Ada, and Ada felt the lack of her gaze so keenly that her skin burned. Hecate blinked quickly, “I know…I know we have to discuss this, to… _dissect_ it, for lack of a better word. But that’s just it. I’m…lacking.”

Ada gave a small grave nod of understanding _. I’m lacking. I don’t have the words to properly convey how I feel, and I need time to find them._

“That’s quite alright,” she reassured her deputy. Her hand moved to pat Hecate’s, but she stopped herself, fingers curling back inwards. Hecate didn’t notice—she hadn’t even glanced in Ada’s direction. “I…I know it’s a lot to process. I can wait.”

_But you can’t apologize, apparently_ , Hecate’s brain shot back, but she didn’t have the energy to voice the thought aloud. Besides, it would start a fight, and she realized that she didn’t have the energy for that, either. That stung, too—Ada had yet to offer any kind of remorse for what she’d done. Hecate was just supposed to accept her actions, let them go without expecting any kind of acknowledgement for their wrongness whatsoever. Hecate felt another ripple of hurt across her skin and her heart.

And she knew that, for once, she was making the right choice. She truly didn’t have the words yet to talk to Ada about this. Because even now, she still held on to her stupid, silly little belief that for her, there would be no other loves beyond this one, and even now, she knew it was worth saving— _they_ were worth saving, _Ada_ was worth saving, now as much as always. Which meant she had to tread carefully, to choose her words with absolute precision, even more conscientiously than she’d ever done before, because it mattered ( _goddess, did it matter_ ). She needed to right words, the right tone, even the right place to quietly say _Ada, this can never happen again, Ada, I love you still, you’re safe, you never have anything to fear from me, never have to fear losing my love, Ada, why couldn’t you just give me what I have always given you, Ada, tell me how I’m lacking, what I did that made you not trust my own judgments, Ada, tell me how to fix it, to fix myself, to make myself worthy, Ada, tell me how to fix us, to fix this, to fix it all, Ada, Ada, Ada, will you please?_

She still needed time. Time they didn’t have, at the moment. Time that should be spent finding her baby sister.

So instead she slowly turned her body towards the wall, away from Ada. She knew the action would hurt the blonde, but it would hurt much less than the words she wanted to spew out, than whatever fumbling imperfect attempts she may make towards repair. _I’m protecting you, Ada, even now, even when you don’t realize it. Because that’s who we are, apparently. You do what you want, and I shield you, as best as I can._

Hecate hated herself even more for her weakness, her passivity, her inability to bring justice to this situation. Was this mercy, or cowardice?

She felt Ada shrinking away from her. “I’ll…let you rest.”

Hecate didn’t respond. Again, what could she say?

Ada took a moment to simply watch the form so physically close to her, yet so emotionally distant. This Hecate, this quiet and reticent and broken one, was worse than anything she’d imagined. If Hecate had chosen to fight, then Ada would have stood a chance. But Hecate was giving up, giving in, and there was no argument that could bring her back.

An apology lodged in her throat like broken glass. To say it now would seem manipulative, like she only did it to make Hecate acknowledge her again. And she still didn’t truly regret her actions—Hecate deserved honesty, even now, when it came at a higher and more painful price. Of course, she was sorry that she hadn’t tried harder, hadn’t fought harder, hadn’t spent more time convincing Hecate to make the right choice herself, but in the end, she wasn’t sorry for doing whatever it took to keep Hecate alive. Still, that was too much to unpack, too much to apologize and not apologize for. So instead, she left the room, waiting until she was safely in the hallway before burying her face in her hands to let out a single, deep sob.

She’d done it, then. Broken this unbreakable woman’s trust, broken this beautiful thing between them before it had even truly begun, broken two decade’s worth of love and friendship in a single moment of selfishness, a single moment she still couldn’t bring herself to regret. Hecate Hardbroom was a woman of absolutes—she would either love or she would hate, there could be no indifference in her world, no single shade of gray in her black and white landscape. She lived in her own meritocracy, and Ada had lost whatever virtues she’d earned in Hecate’s mind. Ada had crossed the uncrossable line, and now there was no going back.

_Oh, upon every sacred stone I know, I swear, let us bring back Circe, safe and sound, and I will accept this loss._ She could deal with Hecate’s anger, her coldness, so long as she was still alive and still happy—even if that happiness no longer included Ada. She continued her prayer, recalling every magical being she could remember to aid her. _I will give anything, I will give everything, just take those haunted shadows from her eyes, just keep her heart safe from further pain and loss._

Streaks of pain radiated through her hands, and she realized that she’d been clasping her hands together so tightly that her fingers had gone beet red and her knuckles snow white, shaking under the force of her pleading. But the pain in her hands did nothing to distract from the pain in her heart.

Her tears were interrupted by a sensation—again, someone at the front gate of the academy, requesting entrance through one of the nightly protection spells (oh, if only they'd lifted that spell just a few hours earlier than usual). She transported to the front gate, not entirely surprised to see Pippa Pentangle’s pink form.

“I couldn’t wait til morning,” the headmistress informed her, clutching her broom like a nervous witchling on her very first day of school. “How is she?”

Ada gave a slight wave of her hand, giving magical permission for Miss Pentangle to enter through the protection hedge. “She just woke up. I’m not sure if she’s ready—”

“Please,” Miss Pentangle lightly placed a hand on Ada’s arm, her big brown eyes filled with desperation. “I just need to see her. To know she’s alright, with my own eyes.”

Ada nodded in understanding. They transferred to Hecate’s door. Miss Pentangle knocked, lightly yet with just enough force to be fully heard. “Hiccup? Hiccup, it’s me. May I come in?”

No response. The younger blonde knocked several more times, and after no reply, she opened the door and twittered in, looking around expectantly.

But the rooms were empty. Hecate Hardbroom was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mental Casting: For Circe's captor, imagine the incomparable Helen McCrory. Because honestly, if you had to be kidnapped by a bad witch, wouldn't you want it to be her?


	3. Chapter 3

The wind was even crueler at this height, buffeting against Hecate's body so strongly that she stumbled backwards more than once as she moved to the edge of the castle rooftop. Her hands were shaking like a fiend in need of a shot of witches’ brew as she rifled through the little bag still attached to her belt—more from nerves than the bitter cold of the hour before dawn, she knew. And her nerves were not entirely induced by this next step she must take—but also by the feelings that had tumbled through her veins after she’d turned her back on Ada, after Ada had quietly slipped away.

From the moment Ada had left her room, Hecate had felt a wave of doubt flood her soul, her surety at their ability to repair this rift between them retreating as swiftly as her headmistress. While Ada had done exactly what Hecate had wanted her to, part of her still hurt at how easily she'd left the room—she didn’t object, didn’t fight to stay, didn’t fight for Hecate. Was that a sign of greater love, or lesser? Why was Hecate upset with Ada for respecting her wishes? What exactly _had_ Hecate wanted from Ada, after all? And what did Ada want from Hecate, after the way she’d just been treated?

She shut her eyes for a moment, steeling herself against the wind. Her fingers delicately counted the bottles inside the pouch. Ada hadn’t taken anything out during her slumber—there were only a few potions, but they were all that she needed. That and the shard of shattered broomstick that Dimity had found. Extending her arm upwards, she summoned it from wherever it was, and it appeared in her hand.

She snapped her fingers again, and her cloak and broom appeared. Then, closing her eyes and bowing her head, she uncapped a vial and poured the glowing liquid on the shard of wood. It wasn’t a complicated spell, she could honestly do it without the aid of a potion—her own magic was more than sufficient. But she needed to conserve every ounce of energy she had. Ada’s sleeping spell still rippled uncomfortably against her skin, tight and fraying, like a sunburn. She could only hope that it would fully wear off before she reached her destination.

“Take me to your mistress,” she whispered, extending her hand once more. The piece of broomstick wobbled slightly in her hand before gently lifting off, bobbing about uncertainly as it tried to fulfill its order. Then, it began to move with steady surety. Hecate mounted her broom and followed.

The sky was still dark, but Hecate wouldn’t have noticed anything else anyways—her gaze was focused on the glowing shard with laser-like intensity. It wasn’t until another witch zipped across her path that she even realized that she wasn’t alone. She swooped to the left to avoid hitting the other broom, her head whipping around to see Dimity Drill pulling up beside her, face set in an uncharacteristically wrathful expression.

“Hecate Hardbroom, you absolute idiot woman!” Dimity was yelling mainly to be heard over the wind, but there was definitely still anger in her tone. “Turn back around!”

Hecate’s features hardened, “I’ve already lost too much time—”

“Ada said—”

“ _Ada’s_ sister isn’t the one in danger!” Hecate snapped back, anger spiking her veins with heat and hurt. That was another point that stung—how many times had Ada been willing to risk so much for Agatha, who’d never deserved her kindness? How much more worthy was Circe, how much more valuable?

Dimity didn’t argue with her. Instead, she narrowed her gaze. “I will _make_ you turn this broom around, if that’s what it takes.”

She moved her hand outwards slightly, only to reach out to HB, only to remind her that they were on the same side, that they wanted the same thing. HB’s pale hand whipped out like lightning in response, and Dimity was rolling across the sky like a stone skipping over water before she could even register what had happened. Her broom shuddered and jerked with the impact, rattling the bones in her arms, and she finally understood what had happened—HB had _struck_ her, lashed out with magic, _intentionally_ flinging her away. She began to tumble downward, her head reeling more from the sudden turn of events than the actual physical rolling of her body. Then the motion stopped, suddenly yet gently, and she drifted to the ground with a slow peacefulness.

She was still flat on her back, trying to process what had just happened, when HB circled overhead, dipping lower, her face lined with an odd mixture of fear and determined bravado.

Dimity suddenly realized her mistake—HB had thought she was reaching out to physically stop her, to take her freewill away again, like Ada had, just hours earlier. Dimity had practically promised as much, when she’d said she would make HB turn back. _Oh, Dimity, you daft idiot, you nearly got yourself killed._

HB was sinking lower on her broom, pale face practically glowing in the sickly twilight. Despite her fearful expression, her voice was steely, “Don’t come after me again, Drill.”

Dimity was still too busy trying to regain proper control of her lungs to respond. HB must have read her lack of response as defiance, because she quietly added, “Please. Don’t.”

_Please, don’t make me hurt you._ That was what she really meant, Dimity knew.

And perhaps for the first time in her entire life, Dimity Drill’s heart hurt for Hecate Hardbroom. She had no siblings of her own, but she still understood loving someone enough to sacrifice your life for theirs. She knew that Ada’s actions earlier that evening were no doubt still traumatizing to HB, as if the trauma of having her baby sister kidnapped by a vengeful group of bloodthirsty witches wasn’t enough. Really, she didn’t blame HB for lashing out at her—she’d thought that Dimity was trying to take away her autonomy again, her beloved precious sense of control, in a situation where she’d already felt completely helpless.

HB had reacted violently, and yet she’d stopped herself. She’d saved Dimity from the fall (although honestly, Dimity could have easily saved herself), and she’d even come back to check on her—wasting precious time, time that could be spent searching for Circe.

Dimity owed her, she supposed.

So she hauled herself to her feet with a groan, fully aware of how closely HB was watching her, ready to strike again if necessary—she kept her hands up and out, in a sign of surrender.

“Goddess forsake us all, Hecate Hardbroom,” Dimity’s hands snapped down the line of her fleece pants, removing the dirt and snow. With a shake of her head and an angry sigh, she called Bippity back to her side. “If you’re gonna get yourself killed, I’m not gonna let you do it alone.”

HB sat back slightly, obviously shocked by this turn of events. With another sigh, Dimity added a warmer jumper to her robes, along with earmuffs and a woolen cap. She mounted her broom and headed back to the sky, calling out to HB, “By the way, I was perfectly capable of stopping the fall myself, thank you very much.”

Hecate was still too shocked to even roll her eyes in response. Instead, she urged her broom upwards, easily finding the glowing shard of wood again and racing alongside Dimity to close the gap between them and it. Once they were back to a more reasonable distance and a slightly slower speed, she looked at Dimity, trying to read her face in the grey morning light.

“Why are you doing this?” She asked, still incredulous.

Dimity shrugged, “You know what they say. If you can’t beat ‘em…”

She didn’t finish the phrase, but then again, she didn’t have to. It seemed like a better explanation than admitting that she’d pitied HB, who would probably blast her out of the sky again for ever daring to experience such an emotion at her expense.

Hecate gave a small nod of understanding, overwhelmed with relief. She hadn’t meant to toss Dimity across the sky like that—it had been instant, sheer instinct, and she’d been immediately filled with fear and repulsion at her own actions.

_There’s a depth in you, Hecate Hardbroom_ , Mistress Broomhead’s voice oiled its way into her thoughts. It was a memory of old—Broomhead had been so proud when she said those words, so pleased at this discovery. _A depth that most would be too afraid to sound. But if you do—oh, the power you could hold!_

At the time, she’d rippled with desire and delight at those words—Mistress Broomhead had been her north star at the time, her greatest wish was to earn her praise (and something more, looking back, she’d realized it was something more, but she’d still be so oblivious back then, so unaware of her own self). And she’d given Hecate exactly what she’d wanted, more than anything! She’d set Hecate aside, made her special, made her the envy of all the other girls in that twisted sisterhood. Her eyes had shone as she looked upon Hecate, and the young witch’s knees had trembled with joyous rapture. In that moment, Hecate would have done anything asked of her, so deep and so blind was her devotion.

How different was that from her relationship with Ada? The thought struck hard, like a slap across the face, and Hecate’s stomach clenched, as if her body would physically reject the notion like sour milk.

No, there were no similarities. Broomhead had used her; Ada valued her. Her devotion to Ada was deep, but it was not blind—she was well-aware of the woman’s faults (even more so now, she thought bitterly), and had never pretended as if Ada were perfect. Yes, she indulged Ada, but it was because she knew that she could—Ada was good, Ada was kind, Ada’s intentions were pure.

So what did that say about her actions tonight? That her intentions were still good, but her execution bad? Could a good person do bad things?

Hecate shook her head, trying to remove the confusing thoughts from her mind. She had to file that away, focus on the task at hand. She couldn’t have the distraction, not right now. Once Circe was safe, then she could take on the bloody business of unpacking what happened with Ada.

Dimity made sure that HB wasn’t watching as she scribbled a quick missive on the maglet shielded underneath her heavy traveling cloak—she was pretty sure that the woman wouldn’t knock her out of the sky a second time, but she wasn’t willing to make that gamble just yet.

Still, Ada needed to know that HB was alright. Dimity wasn’t sure that Ada knew about HB’s departure—the only reason she knew was because she’d anticipated something like this, and had placed her own little alarm charm on the piece of shattered broomstick, just in case someone tried to take it from her while she slept—but Ada would notice soon enough. Dimity highly doubted that the woman had left HB’s side for more than a few minutes at a time since saying her goodnights to the girls a few hours ago.

She tapped twice to send the message, quickly sending her maglet back into vanishment. While she had enjoyed meddling in their budding romance, there was no fun to be found here, as part of whatever was going on between them now. Still, she was slightly responsible for getting them this far, and more than slightly responsible for this current situation (she should have fought harder, should have saved Circe, should have taken to the skies after those witches, should have done _something_ ), which meant she had some kind of obligation towards them both now.

What that something was, she couldn’t say. She hoped that once they rescued Circe, all the other pieces would fall into place. She glanced over at HB again, who was still resolutely fixed upon the floating light in front of them, her face set in a mask of determination. She thought of the way HB had tossed her fifty yards with a flick of the wrist, without a single thought. And Dimity was someone she knew, someone she trusted. Goddess help whoever took Circe. They’d be lucky to make it out alive.

That last thought settled like a stone in her gut. In that moment, Dimity Drill realized the full extent of their current course of action.

Because HB _would_ kill anyone who tried to hurt her sister. And Dimity Drill was helping her, guiding her closer to that moment, that irrevocable act, keeping her life safe so that she could possibly take another’s.

Goddess help them all.

* * *

“But where could she have gone?” Pippa was pacing the floor of Ada’s office, wringing her perfectly manicured hands. They’d searched the grounds for Hecate, had been rewarded with absolutely nothing. Locating spells came back empty-handed as well. Unsure of where else to be, they’d retired to the headmistress’ office. “And why would she just disappear like that?”

Ada knew the answer to the last question, at least. Shame filled her chest as she silently replied, _Because she felt that she had to. Because she felt utterly alone, betrayed. Because she doesn’t trust me anymore._

The thought of Hecate feeling alone and abandoned hurt like hell—she’d probably never forgive herself for being the one to inspire such feelings. Hecate’s abrupt departure sounded like a death knoll in Ada’s heart, because Hecate was silently declaring that she no longer trusted Ada. All that hard-won and hardly-ever deserved loyalty was gone. The faith and devotion that Ada had come to rely on (yes, even to _need_ , as vitally as air), was being withdrawn. Her shining knight was setting down her standard, ceding the field, declaring her loss of conviction.

And yet she knew this sickening feeling couldn’t be nearly as damaging as whatever she’d inspired in her deputy. Her sweet, uncertain, always-believing-herself-unworthy Hecate, who was forever finding fault in herself, forever looking for reasons to hate her own character, forever blind to her own goodness and worthiness. Ada had only affirmed those feelings. _I’m no better than her mother_.

Great goddess above, that realization hurt. It rankled, bringing back the anger she’d felt as Hecate had stoically told her stories from her past, as she’d witnessed the way that woman had treated her daughter, so oblivious to the priceless treasure she’d given the world.

But no, she _would_ be better, Ada decided firmly. She’d find Hecate, she’d fall on her knees and apologize, she wouldn’t dare to beg for forgiveness, she’d let Hecate decide her fate, and then, she’d do everything within her power to rectify whatever wounds her impulsive actions had left behind. And she’d never let it happen again, no matter how afraid she was, no matter how much easier it would seem.

From her desk, Ada’s maglet chimed. She magicked it into her hands immediately, heart leaping like a fool. _Please let it be Hecate._

It was the next best thing, perhaps. Dimity Drill’s strong handwriting, confident and all caps: _With HB now. Tracking down owner of broom. Had no choice. She’s safe._

“She’s OK,” Ada informed Miss Pentangle, who gave a sigh of relief, clutching her chest. She continued, “Apparently she’s set off on her own, as I feared she would—well, not _entirely_ on her own. Dimity Drill is with her.”

“I’m not exactly sure what good the Star of the Sky is going to be, if there’s a fight,” Miss Pentangle pointed out, not unkindly.

Ada didn’t correct her, but she knew that the younger woman had no idea of Dimity’s strength. To be honest, Ada was relieved that it was Dimity—if she couldn’t be there to protect Hecate, then Dimity was certainly the next best option. They’d worked well together to bring Ada back from the alternate reality of the Wailing Wishmaker; despite Hecate’s disdain, she truly trusted and respected Dimity. Perhaps more than she did Ada, at the moment.

“Ask Dimity where they are,” Miss Pentangle took a step closer. “We’ll join them.”

“No,” Ada shook her head.  Hecate definitely would not welcome her presence, not yet, not for quite a while, she guessed. She motioned to Miss Pentangle again, “You and I have our own way to help—by sorting through the guest list and finding the witch who helped kidnap Circe.”

Pippa wanted to push back, to argue that finding this witch would mean nothing if Hecate got herself killed before they figured out her identity, but she still saw the logic in this emotionally charged situation. So she took a deep breath, nodded in agreement, and moved to take a seat in front of Miss Cackle’s desk. With a flourish of her wrist, she brought forth the guest list that she’d been given, she split the document in half, giving one piece to Ada.

“But I assure you,” Ada’s voice was low, already half-distracted as her blue eyes scanned the list of names. “As soon as we have an answer, we will be at Hecate’s side.”

* * *

 

The sun had fully risen and HB still hadn’t said a single word since their initial takeoff. Dimity occasionally glanced over at her flying companion, trying to silently take stock of what was going on in that impressive head of hers and not entirely certain she was pleased with any option imagined.

Beneath them, fields mottled with snow and mud rolled on, a few farmhouses and barns breaking up the duotone landscape. Dimity saw a herd of sheep at one point, gingerly picking their way across the ice-covered hill. Eventually, the farmlands became smaller meadows, lined with brambles. Then came the first few trees, growing in thicker and thicker patches, and then the tall, dark forest, treetops cutting into the early blue sky like glistening fangs, like something out of a twisted fairytale.

The glowing shard of broomstick bumped into an invisible wall, gently at first. Both HB and Dimity slowed their brooms cautiously, watching this new development with interest. The shard tried again to move forward, with slightly more force.

This time, it erupted in a million little splinters, flaming bits shooting off in every direction like a firework. The two witches instinctively shielded themselves, ducking their heads behind arms and traveling cloaks.

“Well.” Dimity finally peered over her raised arm. “That was unexpected.”

HB gave a hum of agreement. Her pale face was set in a thoughtful expression as she surveyed the dark wood before them. “Something in there doesn’t want to be found—or, more aptly, _someone_.”

Dimity knew they weren’t calling it quits. She reached out with her magic, testing the edges of the forest. Some kind of protection hedge was around it—she didn’t point that out, HB had probably already figured that much as well. Instead, she guided Bippity Boppity Broom back to the ground, where she reached out again.

No hedge on the ground, it seemed. Odd. She began to walk into the forest, still holding Bippity—but a weird tug pulled her back. It felt like…someone was holding onto the broom.

Curious, Dimity gently placed Bippity on the ground and tried entering the forest again. This time, there were no issues.

By now, HB had lowered her broom closer to the ground, watching Dimity’s movements with catlike curiosity. She suddenly understood, “The forest is witch-proofed.”

After all, who else would bring brooms into a forest?

Dimity nodded in agreement. It also made things a little more dangerous—no brooms meant no easy escape. They could transfer to the edge of the forest again, but that meant fully remembering what it looked like, and possibly draining their energy, depending on how far into the woods they were when transferring. She glanced up at HB again, “How big would you say this forest is?”

HB’s impressive nose turned back to the sky and her broom slowly followed suit. Dimity waited a few moments, watching the dark figure above her grow smaller and shift around, as if surveying the landscape. HB came back eventually, mouth twisting in worry. “Easily twenty, twenty-five thousand acres, maybe more.”

Normally, Dimity would challenge her on the math, but now wasn’t the time and the numbers didn’t matter so much as the scale they implied—it was a large forest, and they were going in on foot. This didn’t bode well for their chances of finding Circe quickly and easily.

HB was literally boots on the ground now, setting her broom aside as well. Her height diminished a few inches, and Dimity realized that she’d magicked more practical footwear (walking without complaint, my, things must certainly be serious). Dimity walked back into the small area just at the forest’s edge, taking time to hide their brooms and make a few distinctive marks on the ground.

“What are you doing?” HB quietly asked.

“Anything I can to make this place stand out in my memory.” Dimity didn’t add why—HB would understand it was for a possible transfer. Dimity also didn’t add that she had the distinct feeling that she would be the one casting such a spell. Because if things went the way she imagined, HB might not have the strength to do it herself ( _oh, goddess above, please let me be wrong, I’ve never wanted to be so wrong in all my life, but please let it be so_ ).

Risking life and limb, Dimity called her maglet from vanishment. There was a new message from Ada, thanking her for sticking with HB, and informing her of Miss Pentangle’s arrival with the Hallowed Hills guest list and their current search.

“What are you doing now?” The tone of HB’s voice implied that she knew quite well what Dimity was doing.

“Letting Ada know where we are, and what’s happened so far,” Dimity spoke quickly, just barely keeping herself from flinching in anticipation of a blow. After a beat without repercussions, she continued, “We’re going to need reinforcements, and as soon as Ada and Miss Pentangle sort through—”

“Pippa?” Hecate felt her head spin slightly. What on earth was Pippa doing, getting herself involved in all of this? Her heart began to hammer with a new wash of rage as she considered how Ada must have continued moving forward without asking her opinion, without—

_Ada had continued moving forward._ The thought struck her like a bolt of lightning. After Hecate had succumbed to the sleeping spell, Ada had still tried to help Circe, in some way. She felt a surge of tears, but she wasn’t sure of their origin—relief, anger, love, helpless frustration?

“Yes, Miss Pentangle was able to get the guest list for the Hallowed Hills ritual,” Dimity informed her. The fact that HB hadn’t killed her yet seemed to be a good sign. She knew that HB and the headmistress of Pentangle’s Academy weren’t exactly the best of friends these days, so her reaction to Miss Pentangle’s addition to the team could have gone either way, Dimity guessed. “She’s with Ada now, going through the list, to see if they can find the witch who took Circe.”

Hecate’s bones turned wobbly with relief. Ada, for once, was being the cautious one, the one who took the more circuitous but equally effective route. How many times had Hecate chosen that path, pulling Ada back to safety through hours upon hours of discussions and debates?

Except Ada hadn’t done the last part. She hadn’t taken the time to try convincing Hecate to see her side. She’d simply taken over, taken charge, and _that_ was the issue at hand.

Hecate blinked back more tears. Again, she wasn’t entirely certain of their emotional origin. She warred between relief in knowing that if she’d aptly pegged Ada’s motivation, then it was a repair they could make, that a possible mend existed for this rift between them, and painful anxiety in fearing that somehow, she’d failed Ada yet again, failed to prove herself worthy of being trusted, worthy of Ada’s time and effort to convince her in the first place, worthy of Ada, in any and every way.

Dimity watched the contortions of HB’s expressive face, trying to read the meaning behind each variation while equally fearing that she might not want to know the answer at all.

“Tell Ada,” Hecate stopped, cleared her throat, tried to squash out the emotional tremor in her words. “Tell Ada that we will leave a beacon, for her to find.”

Dimity understood the rest—they were still moving forward, still going into that dark and foreboding wood, still not wasting any time that could be spent finding and saving Circe.

Dimity merely nodded and added that detail to the reply she’d been scribbling. From the corner of her eye, she saw HB’s arms rising from the depths of her winter traveling cloak, pale hands extending to the sky (crazy woman, she’d forgotten her gloves).

She dared a full glance at HB, whose face was turned to the sky, brows furrowed in an oddly painful expression. She knew the spell would cause no harm to HB, which meant her source of discomfort was not magic, but memory.

A single, glowing luna moth danced its way upwards, its pale light blending into the brightening morning sky.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a brief depiction of violence. Just a heads up.

The most recent maglet message from Dimity Drill had intensified Pippa and Miss Cackle’s sense of focus—Pippa’s eyes were straining not to cross from staring too hard as she magicked each name on the list into producing its owners face, their witching credentials appearing above the paper in a ghostly pane.

Her concentration was broken by a harsh rapping sound—she snapped her gaze towards the window, Miss Cackle mimicking her movement as well. On the windowsill sat a hulking raven, its shoulders hunched against the could.

Ada opened the window with a wave of her hand, trepidation snaking through her gut as the bird calmly floated into the room with a single flap of its wide wings, landing gently on her desk with unmistakable intent.

This was a familiar, not some wild bird of the forest. And it came with a message.

From its beak dropped a wooden cylinder, the dark polished wood woven with ancient runes, scuffed and nicked by a thousand journeys before. Gingerly, Ada reached forward, still half-afraid the thing might launch some kind of attack, but it simply watched her, cocking its head to one side to better view her with its cautious gaze.

It took a little force to get the cylinder to open, and her hands were shaking as she drew out the slip of parchment contained within. The words were written in easy, flourished script—written by someone confident, someone who felt they had all the time in the world.

_If you wish to see your lover again, come. Blood does not need to be spilled, but we are prepared to do whatever is necessary to return our Mistress to her rightful place._

It took Ada a moment to process the words. _Lover_. Whenever this missive was written, the author obviously assumed that Circe was Hecate. _Mistress_. Agatha, an easy guess. _Her rightful place_. Not entirely an easy guess.

Her mind swam with questions. Had Circe revealed her true identity since the letter had been sent? Was she still safe? What was Agatha’s rightful place, exactly? With her coven, reigning supreme once again, or as headmistress of the school—or, goddess forbid, in a position of even greater power?

“What does it say?” Pippa Pentangle’s voice interrupted her warring mind.

Ada ducked her head, instinctively pulling the note closer—she wasn’t sure she wanted Miss Pentangle to read it, to see the word _lover_ , to question that simple word with no simple answer (particularly when Ada wasn’t sure what the answer was, how much truth could be held in such a title, whether that was even a possibility for her anymore). “Ah, it’s—a ransom note, in a way. Whoever wrote it wants us to come to them. To save…”

She glanced uneasily at the raven. How much could this familiar communicate to its mistress?

Miss Pentangle understood, because she quietly finished, “To save Hecate?”

Ada nodded.

“But—where?” Miss Pentangle’s face scrunched in confusion. “Does it have a map, or—”

“There’s nothing.” Ada frowned as she realized that the note had no discernible beaconing features, no map, no coordinates.

The raven reached out, gently tapping on the wooden message casket with its beak.

Pippa took the two wooden caps in her hands, inspecting the carved details more carefully. With a small gasp of surprise, she realized, “It’s here. The guide, it’s—the runes are signposts, things we’ll see along the way. Here’s a red oak, and this is…ah, heavens, it’s been ages since I’ve had to…a…laughing stone? No, no, maybe a…crying stone?”

Pippa glanced up, seeing the sheer amazement Miss Cackle’s expression. With a wry smirk of her own, she said, “I may be all about modern witching at my school, Miss Cackle, but I have studied the ancient ways quite thoroughly, I assure you. How else could I effectively move into the future, if I didn’t fully understand the past?”

It was a valid point, Ada realized. Still, she was a bit too awestruck to verbally reply.

The raven had evidently carried out its directive, because it hopped around slightly, readjusting itself to set a course through the window and out into the winter sky. The two headmistresses watched it fly away, both still shaken by its arrival.

“So now we know where to go,” Pippa set the casket down gently. “We just need to find out who we’re going up against.”

Ada nodded in agreement, waving the window shut again and shivering at the cold breeze that passed through the office. A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, and she motioned it open.

“Ada,” Gwen Bat entered, looking slightly flustered at the sight of Miss Pentangle. “Everyone is awaiting you in the staff room.”

The headmistress closed her eyes for a second, cursing herself both for forgetting and for even arranging a staff meeting in the first place. It was necessary, she knew, part of the responsibility she accepted years ago, but goddess above, it seemed so trivial right now.

Gwen sensed her hesitancy, and quietly asked, “What shall I tell them?”

Oh, Gwen. Dependable, steadfast Gwen. Ready to take on any burden, any task assigned. Ada adored her even more in that moment, but she also knew that it wasn’t Gwen’s place to manage the meeting. Besides, Hecate would hate to think that Ada had placed her wellbeing over that of the academy (even though Ada would do so, happily and thousand times over).

So Ada sighed and said, “I’m coming now, Gwen.”

To Miss Pentangle, she quietly added, “It will only take a moment.”

“Of course,” the younger headmistress merely nodded. After all, she understood better than most.

By the time Miss Cackle and Miss Bat had left, Pippa’s fingers were practically itching with the need to read the kidnapper’s note. She snatched it off Miss Cackle’s desk, eyes roaming over the lines.

_If you wish to see your lover again_ ….Pippa’s head swam in confusion. Circe, with Miss Cackle? While she’d only met Hiccup’s little sister once, over the years she’d heard tales of the wild and wildly charming Circe Hardbroom, the half-mad green witch who occasionally left her woodland burrow to cause sensationally delightful havoc among witching society. That didn’t seem Miss Cackle’s speed at all.

_Looks can be deceiving_ , she mused with a wry arch of her brow, knowing her own reputation was a bit more upstanding and stoic than her true personality could ever allow. _I wonder how Hiccup feels about that._

Then she remembered: Circe had been kidnapped by accident, mistaken for her sister. She felt like an idiot for forgetting.

It was odd, having a realization that made so much sense, yet still took the rug out from under her feet. She sat back, slightly dazed by the thought. Hecate and Miss Cackle… _lovers_. It made sense, of course it did. But…how had she never seen it? How long had it been going on? Had Pippa been making a fool of herself, pushing Hiccup to remember their youth, trying to see if all those feelings that had ricocheted between them had been a figment of her imagination, to see if any of it was still there? Had they talked about it, about her, had they laughed at her painful stupidity, her inability to see the obvious truth?

No. For all the things Hecate Hardbroom was and wasn’t, she was never one to be cruel. Even abandoning Pippa at the water display had been some act of kindness, at least in Hecate’s oddly noble mind. And Hecate had accepted Pippa’s friendship since their reunion, albeit begrudgingly—she wasn’t one for spiteful gestures, even now.

But surely Hecate would have said something, during the time Miss Cackle was deposed as headmistress and Pippa had been sent to take over. Or surely Miss Cackle would have said something, over the past few hours.

Unless this was another mistake. Another misunderstanding on the part of whoever took Circe. Pippa chewed her bottom lip, not sure which option seemed more appealing. While she still held a soft, sweet flame in her heart for the young girls they once were, she’d never pined away, and she’d certainly never cloistered herself. Her teenage friendship with Hiccup had been a bittersweet lesson about herself, and some lessons were only taught once.

She hadn’t really accepted that last bit until recently—until she’d come to Cackle’s to take over the role of headmistress. There had been another lesson learned then, too. Pippa Pentangle had realized that there would never be anything more than friendship between them (and even _that_ was still on shaky ground), and had even realized that she only _wanted_ friendship from Hiccup.

It had been both a relief and a hard pill to swallow. In the years before their reunion, the years in-between, she’d sometimes revisited a small hope that they would meet again and perhaps make something more. It was a small, comforting little dream, and letting go took some effort. Because what are humans, if not hopes and dreams contained within fragile little houses of blood and bone?

But she had other hopes, other dreams, too. And very few regrets. Her nature included an intense need to _know_ , which still simmered with wondering if Hiccup had returned her teenage affections, but the curiosity was more clinical than emotional—but she knew, even if she never heard the words officially fall from Hecate’s lips. She would content herself with that, knowing that Hecate Hardbroom would probably never confess to a former teenage infatuation, even under torture.

Her hopes had included the wish that Hiccup could move forward, too. That she would be happy, in whatever way she chose to be happy. That she would know how loved she was, and how lovable. And if Ada Cackle happened to be the witch for the job, then so be it.

Still, she wondered how long she’d looked like a fool. It wasn’t vanity, merely human nature. She was supposed to be ahead of the game, always aware of all the moving pieces on the board—if she missed this, what else was she missing in the faces around her?

The door opened and she magicked the letter back to its original place, quickly focusing on the guest list and pulling up the witching credentials of the next name before turning back to Miss Cackle with an innocuous smile.

However, Miss Cackle’s expression was one of total shock. Pippa frowned, knowing full well that the woman couldn’t have been quick enough to see the note still in her hand.

But the older woman wasn’t looking at Pippa. She was looking at the guest list in Pippa’s hand—more accurately, she was looking at the photo attached to the guest’s witching credentials.

The breath left her lungs as she quietly decreed, “That’s her. That’s the woman who took Circe.”

* * *

 

Feeling sleepy probably wasn’t a good sign, Circe decided. She’d taken a rather nasty bump on the head during the whole skirmish at Cackle’s, and she was fairly certain that her constant headache and current fatigue weren’t exactly the best symptoms to have.

Still, damned if she was going to complain about it. _Stiff upper lip, Hardbroom. What would Heck do?_

Her sister would be quiet, would watch and listen and wait. That had been a lesson that Hecate had tried to instill in Circe, during her time at school. Circe had been even more hot-headed then, and her sister, who was in her late twenties and finally out of the grip of teenage angst, had tried to caution her. They’d sat at a game of chess, Hecate quietly doling out cool bits of advice as she moved her pawns around.

_Don’t tell everything you know, just to prove that you know something_ , Heck had told her _. And don’t strike just because an opportunity arises._

Circe hadn’t listened (she was merely thirteen at the time, who could blame her?), had pushed to capture the queen, only to find that her own was taken out by Hecate’s pawn.

_Not every opportunity is the right opportunity,_ Heck had chided (although the corner of her mouth had fluttered ever-so-slightly, and Circe had known that her sister still found her impatience amusing). _Once you reveal your intentions, you can’t retreat. So make sure that when you do, you are able to fulfill those intentions, and that you’re quick enough to keep your opponent from blocking your move._

Circe’s captor had to believe two things, in order for Circe’s plan to work: that Circe was actually Hecate, and that she was helpless to escape.

Currently, one thing was false, and the other still unfortunately rather true.

Well, not _entirely_ helpless.

With a small groan of pain, Circe rolled onto her back. Her hands were still tied behind her, so she shrugged her shoulders, setting her arms akimbo so that her hands rested in the small of her back, a slightly more comfortable position. Then she turned her palms downward, pressing into the hard-packed soil. The floor was practically clay at this point, so hard and smooth. But was there room for life?

She furrowed her brow and set her mind to concentrate.

There was the creaking sound of a door opening, soft-but-sure footsteps coming closer. Then, the voice of her captor. “What are you doing?”

“Contemplating the vastness of the universe,” she returned drolly.

She heard the hiss almost as instantaneously as she felt the sensation—the woman’s fingers on her throat, nails digging into her windpipe, pressing the full weight of her tinier body into Circe’s neck. Circe’s eyes opened to see her captor’s face, just inches from her own, eyes wide with fury and more than a hint of instability.

“You haven’t felt the proper level of fear to learn _respect_ ,” the stranger spat, shaking with rage. Circe felt her face swelling with blood as her lungs screamed for air, her hands reflexively digging into the earth with desperation. The stranger shifted back slightly, keeping her grip on Circe’s throat but removing her weight from it. A small sliver of air sucked its way into Circe’s lungs, not nearly enough, and her head thrummed with adrenaline and pain, the edges of her vision darkening.

“No matter,” the stranger became calmer again, almost disinterested. “I shall teach you.”

With that, she released her grip. Circe hated herself for gasping, for showing her desperation, for giving this woman even the slightest acknowledgement of power, but her lungs took what they needed, regardless of dignity or power plays. Her neck stung from the bite of the stranger’s nails, her windpipe already rasping and bruised.

_Convince her._ Her inner voice prompted. _Convince her that you aren’t a threat. You can’t win if you don’t stay alive._

But she couldn’t do it. For all her pragmatism, her pride was still the stronger suit.

And Great Green Goddess damn her, she couldn’t stop her mouth from shooting back, “If you’re gonna keep this up, we really must establish a safeword.”

Her response was a swift kick in the ribs. Circe rolled to her side again, curling inwards.

And she laughed. She laughed, before she even realized what she was doing. Even as it was happening, she understood, with utter clarity, how very wrong of a choice that was.

The next kick was straight to her chin, snapping her skull so hard against the ground that stars rocketed across her vision.

“I’m no good to you dead!” She shouted out—at least she thought she was shouting. She couldn’t be sure, her hearing didn’t seem to be working. Her eyes weren’t working either, or had the room simply gone dark? Still, she kept talking, her jaw throbbing with every movement, her tongue feeling sluggish and three sizes too big, the numbness giving way to the definitive taste of blood. “You know it’s true. You kill me, and Ada Cackle will rain fire and brimstone upon you. You’ll never get your precious Agatha back then.”

She’d had time to think, during the long, quiet hours of her captor’s absence. Of course she wasn’t entirely a hermit—between what few things Hecate had told her about life at the academy and what gossip she’d picked up on her yearly rounds of social calls, she’d heard bits and pieces about Agatha Cackle, the disgraced twin to Ada Cackle, who was currently banished in some form of exile or another, bound by magic for eternity as punishment for some kind of grievous sin.

When she’d first heard the gossip, she hadn’t fully paid attention—she knew most of the whispers had been started by the Great Wizard himself, a move to remind people of his power, his supreme authority and its ability to quite effectively deal with dissenters, and she’d merely rolled her eyes at the subtle grandstanding ( _men and their pissing contests, they’d flood the whole world if they could_ ). Now she wished that her former self had listened a little more closely, had kept clues to remember, to use in her defense.

Her threat stopped the violence, because no more blows came. Her vision was still dodgy, but she could sense the woman hesitating, weighing this new information.

“I’m still going to tell Ada that you kicked me,” Circe tested the waters, tested to see how effective her threat had been. She hawked out a mouthful of blood, as if accentuating her point. “She’ll kick you back, I promise. Very good high kick, that one.”

Her only reward was the sound of footsteps, moving farther away, the door opening and slamming with such force that the wooden rafters shook and clouds of dust cascaded to the floor. Circe rolled onto her back again with a sigh of relief. Her vision seemed to be improving, she could see the rafters in the hazy low light—

Light. The whole time, she’d had light. Where was it coming from?

She felt rather than heard the groan that pulled from her lungs as she slowly rolled onto her back, felt the vibrations of her vocal chords as the painful push of oxygen highlighted the agony of her bruised windpipe. She stopped for a moment, grimacing as she waited for the pain to lessen. After years of living alone in the wilderness, she knew quite a few healing spells, but she feared losing energy in performing them—she needed every ounce of her strength and her magic to aid her escape, and healing a busted lip or a headache seemed frivolous in comparison.

A few beats passed, and the pain was still there, but lessened in intensity. _Good as it’s gonna get for a while_. She used her feet to push against the floor, turning herself onto her right side, her breathing becoming heavier and more desperate as a wave of nausea rolled through her brain. _Oh, that’s not good so not good bad bad bad Circe stay awake don’t close your eyes this is bad get out now._

She stopped her pained panting, forced herself to take one deep, steady breath, despite the screaming of her windpipe and the throbbing of her ribcage. Once she felt sure that she wasn’t going to pass out, she slowly opened her eyes again.

The cellar walls were high, close to ten feet, if Circe had to guess. On the right side of the room, there was a window at the very top, maybe a foot tall, that ran close to four feet wide. The pane was thick and dirty, and the light coming through was weak, but it was still light—and light meant life.

“This next part is going to be particularly unpleasant,” Circe informed herself, taking a moment to steel her nerves. She may have taken on a life forsaking material possessions, but she still very much liked personal physical comfort, and this current situation was not up to her usual standards. She didn’t do well with personal illness or injury—her mother would say that she hadn’t experienced it enough as a child, and technically, that was true. Heck had always been there, to soothe the tummy aches and patch the scuffed knees, to curl her entire body protectively around her little sister, making her feel like the safest, most loved child in the whole wide world.

That was what kept Circe going—Heck was coming for her, she knew it. Coming to save her, to wrap her in a big hug, to take care of her, once this was all over. And she had to do everything in her power to make that as easy as possible for Heck. She needed to let her sister know where she was, and about any hidden dangers the place might possess. She had to be ready to fight, to help with her own rescue, to protect Hecate as well.

With one last queasy breath, Circe rolled herself forward. Her head swam and stars tumbled across her eyes again. But she didn’t allow herself to stop, didn’t allow herself to give in to the pain shredding through her ribs and throat. She kept moving, kept rolling over and over again, kept fighting back the instincts of her body to stop, to shield herself, to remove itself from the painful situation.

Finally, her shoulder bumped against the cool wall, and she was too dazed to even feel relief. She just felt tired…so very tired….

She could close her eyes. Just for a minute.

* * *

 

Ada was at Miss Pentangle’s side in a flash, both blondes leaning forward to inspect the small holographic photo that revealed the identity of Circe’s kidnapper.

“Asteria Allbright,” Miss Pentangle read the name softly. Then, after a beat, she gave a small sound of worry, “Oh.”

“Oh, what?” Ada’s blue eyes scanned the list of credentials, trying to find the source of Miss Pentangle’s concern.

“I think Hecate may have met her match,” the younger woman pointed to the bottom line of the credential card, which listed additional studies and accolades.

_Spellcaster of the Year, 1996-1999. Duel Instructor at The Council Defense Training Center, 2002-2010. Potions Instructor at University of Witchaven, 2008-Present._

“And look what she studied at university,” Ada pointed to another section of the card.

_Area of Study: History of Spellcasting. Emphasis: Arcana._

“Arcana includes black magic,” Pippa felt her veins flood with dread. “Black magic that no one else even _remembers_ , much less knows how to counteract—even a witch as skilled as Hecate.”

Miss Cackle gave a solemn nod of agreement. Quietly, she said, “We should leave now. Dimity and Hecate have quite the head start, and they’re going to need all the help they can get.”

Pippa didn’t have to be told twice. She was on her feet in a flash, magicking herself into more practical clothing for a traipse through the woods as she called her broom and cloak from vanishment.

“I must leave instructions for Miss Bat and the rest of the staff,” Miss Cackle informed her, already writing furiously on her maglet. She, too, had changed into warmer traveling clothes, her cloak and cap already secured.

Pippa took out her handheld mirror and chewed her bottom lip, her mind running through possible alternatives. Finally, she settled on an appropriate target and tapped their details on her mirror pane.

“Pip, darling,” a bleary-eyed man answered, half-wrapped in his dressing gown, silver hair still mussed from sleep. “It’s a bit early for us old birds to be taking calls. Especially when your mother keeps us out all hours of the night at yet another party.”

“The sun’s been up for ages, Daddy, and you know you love a good party just as much as she does,” Pippa gave her most winning smile, the one she’d worn at every school awards program, the one she wore in every picture with her smiling, adoring parents. “I have a rather important favor, and I needed someone I could trust.”

Her father lost his sleepy look, becoming wary and attentive. He’d once headed the Magic Council’s Defense Committee, and the soldier was still there, beneath the silver and the knuckles gnarled by time.

“I need you to tell me everything you know about Asteria Allbright,” Pippa kept her tone and her expression calm, pleasant even. Her father had retired only five years ago (her mother had steamrolled him into it, insisting that she wanted to travel the world before they got too old to enjoy it, and like her daughter, she excelled at bending others to her will in the most charming of ways), so he would have at least known Asteria Allbright in passing, if she’d been training wizards and witches for the Defense Committee.

Mr. Pentangle’s face contorted into an expression of cautious concern. “Pip, love, if this is another one of your little fanciful—”

“It _isn’t_ ,” Pippa rolled her eyes heavenward. “I’m quite capable of hitting my own targets these days, I don’t need support staff for those kinds of missions.”

Normally, her father would laugh at that, or at least smile at her snarky use of tactical terms. But he remained stone-faced, “I mean it, darling. Stay away from that woman. Whatever your interest in her, no good can come of it.”

“Why not?”

Her father hesitated. Pippa considered telling him what was going on, but one glance at Miss Cackle, who was watching the exchange with rapt interest from across the room, informed her that it wasn’t the wisest choice.

“Dad, what do you know about her?”

Mr. Pentangle glanced around uneasily, almost as if he feared being overheard. “I don’t know _anything_ , Pippa. And that’s the worrisome part. There was a bit of running joke, back in the day, that she was part of some kind of covert Council operation, because her background was kept so hush-hush. No one else seemed to really care, because she was an excellent duelist and a very effective teacher. Some of our best protective detail team members trained under her, and a few very important wizards and witches owe her their lives because of that training. And like I said, I don’t _know_ anything, but…”

“But what?”

“But I always got the feeling that…well, still waters run deep.” He gave a helpless shrug. Pippa knew that her father was a man of logic and exactitude, confining his opinions to things that could be seen and quantified and understood (one of the reasons she’d adored Hiccup so much—she’d been such a reminder of a man she’d idolized her entire life). To base an opinion of a person simply on his gut wasn’t easy. “She always had something more going on, in the background. She worked for us and was civil to all of us at the Defense Committee because it suited her, because at the time it benefitted her, in some way, although I could never figure out exactly what it was, aside from prestige, perhaps. But there was never any true loyalty, no desire to protect and serve. Just…something else.”

Pippa gave a small hum of understanding, simultaneously quashing a sense of dismay. She wasn’t likely to find anything more from anyone else, either.

“And…” Her father squinted as he cast his mind back into memory. “She did have a temper. _Quite_ a temper. Sometimes the smallest infraction, the smallest mistake by a trainee, would set it off. But she was considered brilliant and passionate about dueling, so everyone just chalked it up to the instability of genius.”

Then he looked at her again, face filled with worry, “You aren’t involved with her, are you? In any way—personal, professional, whatever else?”

“No,” Pippa lied. “She came up in a conversation, and—”

“Pippa Pentangle. You forget that I have literally known you since the moment you were born. If you are going to lie to me, at least give me the consideration of trying to be more convincing.”

She couldn’t help the sheepish smile that flooded her face ( _Great Goddess, I’m fifty years old and my father still makes me feel like I’m five, called onto the carpet for stealing sweets from Grandad’s candy bowl again_ ).

“Just be careful, Pip.” He didn’t try to dissuade her or demand the truth, and for that, she loved him even more. He trusted her, even when he was worried.

Pippa gave a curt nod, “I will.”

This time, she wasn’t quite sure if it was a lie.


	5. Chapter 5

“Ada and Miss Pentangle are on the way.”

The sound of Dimity’s voice stopped Hecate in her tracks, her muscles instantly tensing. She'd seen Dimity stop to check her maglet as they cautiously picked their way around small mountains and valleys created by the large trees' roots, so she'd known that soon she'd hear something like this, but her body had still reacted, no matter how prepared her mind had been.

_Ada_. Was she ready to see her again? As usual, Hecate was afraid.

She heard Dimity moving closer, close enough that she could easily reach out and put a hand on Hecate’s shoulder, although she didn’t.

“Are you alright?” Dimity broke the silence again, and the knowing tone informed Hecate that she was well aware of her internal struggle.

Hecate gave a small quick nod, instantly regretting it (because she _wasn’t_ alright, and for once, she didn’t want to pretend that she was feeling anything other than exactly whatever this was, because for once, she didn’t want to deal with this alone—it was too much, too confusing, too painful to bear on her own).

Dimity took a deep breath and glanced around the woods, which still freaked her out. Once they’d entered, they’d realized something strange: there was no snow inside the forest. The deciduous trees were bare of leaves, as if fall had come, but ice did not touch this place. It was eerie, knowing they were in some kind of reverse snow globe.

She pushed the uneasiness aside and focused on the woman in front of her—who still hadn’t turned back to face Dimity, who was still obviously processing some traumatic shit, who now more than ever needed Dimity and her meddling ways, as loathsome as the idea may be to both of them.

“Did you—have you…did you and Ada…talk?” By now, Dimity knew that HB wouldn’t strike her again, but she had a new fear: that the other woman might crumble to pieces, completely shattered under the weight of her current situation.

Hecate worried her bottom lip between her teeth, considering her answer. Dimity Drill was a solid witch and a trustworthy colleague, but were they _friends_? Hecate wasn’t particularly well-versed in all the variations of interpersonal relationships, but this seemed like the type of thing you shared with a friend, not a colleague. And it was horrible, and messy—once she opened the box for Dimity, there was no going back. Dimity may regret ever asking, may even ( _goddess forbid_ ) pity her. Dimity may just be asking to be polite.

That last thought made Hecate smirk. Dimity Drill had absolutely zero problems being impolite when she damn well felt like it, so this certainly wasn’t the woman just trying to be civil.

The silence continued, and finally, Dimity spoke again, her voice low and lined with concern, “If you don’t wanna talk, you don’t have to. I just thought…you might need to. And as it’s just me and you here in the woods, you really don’t have much choice of conversational companions.”

Hecate felt a pang of guilt for making Dimity feel unwanted—especially after she’d come here, on her own volition, with no motivation other than to simply help. Still, Hecate kept her back turned to her as she spoke, “It’s not—I just think it might be more than you want to hear about. More than you want to know.”

Now Dimity was moving forward again, walking around HB so that she was in the woman’s line of sight, so that HB _had_ to look at her. She offered a smile, “Story of my life, really. I think I can handle it.”

HB offered a small, grateful smile of her own.

“Besides, HB, we’re gal pals now. We share everything.” Dimity looped her arm through HB’s, only for the woman to slip out of her grasp again.

“If you make another joke about us sleeping together—”

“She said it! She finally said!” Dimity was crowing with delight, fists pumping to the air in victory. “I _finally_ got Hecate Hardbroom to admit that we slept together!”

“And no one else was around to witness it,” Hecate pointed out dryly. Her mouth kept twisting into a wry grin, and inwardly, she marveled at how dexterously Dimity had moved them away from the awkwardness of moments before, as easily as she maneuvered her prized brooms. It was a skill she both admired and appreciated.

“Doesn’t matter,” Dimity shook her head, still wearing a smug smile. “I don’t need witnesses. I know in my heart of hearts that it’s true, I don’t need anyone to verify it for me.”

That last thought struck some somberness back into Hecate. Goddess, she’d felt the same way about loving Ada, about being loved by Ada—she felt it, at times fleeting and unidentifiable, but she’d somehow always known that it was true, even when she didn’t realize it.

HB’s expression fell like a piano from a third story window, and Dimity was fairly sure as to why. Great Merlin’s Girdle, these lesbians were such a handful. Why couldn’t they just stay on track, declare their love, and move on? Some people had a fairly good bit of money riding on this.

Deep down, Dimity knew her concern was far less superficially based. But she wasn’t in the business of admitting such things.

“I was with her, afterwards,” Dimity ventured quietly. If HB wasn’t going to start talking, then Dimity would fill the void, get the ball rolling. Because obviously this woman needed to be in a better place mentally by the time Ada and Miss Pentangle arrived. Plus, talking was a distraction—it slowed down their pace, made it easier for the others to catch up, and kept them farther from whatever danger awaited them, deeper into the woods.

HB looked up at her, dark eyes wide with questions that she was too afraid to ask.

“Look, I won’t defend her actions—it wasn’t right, what she did or how she did it.” Dimity found that she couldn’t keep looking into that face, couldn’t keep staring into all the raw hurt shooting back at her. She started moving again, and HB matched her pace, their footsteps muffled by the dirt and the pine needles strewn across the forest floor.

For some reason, that small acknowledgement meant the world to Hecate. For once, she wasn’t overreacting, wasn’t in the wrong. And someone else saw that, someone else agreed. This whole time, she’d silently wondered if she’d truly been so irrational, so out of control that Ada’s actions had been the only option—wondered if she had been the one at fault, somehow, and that had only added to her confusion.

Dimity took another uneasy breath, “How do you…feel? About all this?”

Hecate stopped, slightly thrown off by the question. “I don’t know, exactly.”

“Ok…do you want to expand upon that?” Now Dimity’s tone was lined with just a hint of exasperation, mainly good-natured. They were slowly slipping into their old roles.

“Not particularly,” Hecate admitted, knowing it would earn her an eye roll (it did). She started moving again, easily matching Dimity's pace. Then she added, “I just…we did talk, sort of. I don’t really want to go into detail—”

“You don’t have to,” Dimity quickly assured her. “Just…I thought you should know that you do have every right to be upset. And Ada knows that, too. Even if she hasn’t admitted it yet.”

Damn, Dimity really did have them pegged. Hecate ducked her head, giving a slight shake of amusement.

“But,” Dimity’s voice was gentle again, lined with cautious concern. “You do have to forgive her, HB.”

The potions mistress looked up at her again, the flash of defiance in her eyes quickly muting into confusion (but it was still there— _the old HB’s still there, still spiteful as ever_ ).

“Not for her—for you,” Dimity added. With a soft smile, she continued, “You love Ada Cackle like the sea loves the moon. If you let all that love turn into anger and bitterness, you’ll drown yourself completely.”

In a sudden flash of insight, Hecate thought of her parents. Her faithless father and her sniping, bitter mother. Had her mother loved him, once? Had his inability to return her love been the source of her current hatred towards him? She remembered visiting them with Max, sitting at the dinner table and feeling the resentment and loathing radiating off them in waves. She remembered thinking about being married to Ada, about how it could never be that way between them, because they were bigger than that, better than that.

_Pride goeth before a fall_ , her inner voice mused.

But another side of her rose up, unable to accept this. No, she’d fought her own cowardice to be this far with Ada, had challenged the Great Wizard himself and faced a possible eternity trapped in a painting to keep Ada here with her, had denied herself and her heart on the belief that she was protecting Ada for years. Now the battle was different, it was more painful, more personal—and victory would be deeper and more meaningful.

Because if they survived this, they would survive everything.

Hecate just had to figure out how.

Dimity interrupted her thoughts, quietly adding, “You need to forgive her, and give her the chance to earn your trust back. She’s already beating herself up over this, HB—she won’t make the same mistake twice, I promise you.”

Hecate didn’t correct her, didn’t try to explain how she saw the whole thing as Ada’s loss of trust in her, not vice versa. Didn’t want to talk about the fact that Ada hadn’t shown such remorse when she’d sat at Hecate’s bedside—

_How do you know? You couldn’t even look at her._ Her inner voice taunted, and she felt a pang of realization that it was entirely true. She thought of the things she’d seen in Circe’s memory keeper—the way Ada had looked at her when she wasn’t looking, all the things she’d apparently missed for years.

However, she kept this all to herself, merely shaking her head at Dimity’s words. “It’s not forgiveness that’s an issue, not…not with Ada. It’s…I don’t know….”

“How to talk about it?” Dimity guessed. Hecate didn’t have to glance over to see the wry smirk that was evident in her tone. It was no secret that Hecate Hardbroom was not the world’s most renowned conversationalist. “You just… _talk_. Talk even if it doesn’t make sense. Talk even if it’s ugly. You’ll find your feet, somewhere along the way. You can’t really plan one of those conversations, HB. Just talk and then listen. You’ll know where to go from there.”

It wasn’t that easy. It couldn’t be that easy. Once again, Hecate marveled at how well Dimity understood her personality—because _of course_ she’d wanted to find the right words to say, the right time and the right place to have her conversation with Ada, as if all those factors could somehow change the course of the situation itself. She suddenly realized how pointless it all was, just like her tittering over having a perfect first dance with Ada. It would be hard and it would be messy, and it would be necessary. It was work, and that was something Hecate understood. It could not always be perfectly timed and measured in appropriate doses, watered down to be made more bearable. Sometimes it would be raw and rough and more than she was ready to handle. But it would make her stronger, make _them_ stronger, together.

_Unbreakable_. That’s what she wanted, she realized. To be something, to be a singular thing, with Ada, unbreakable. Perhaps not always perfect, not immune to shocks and shakes, but always indestructible. She could build this tower, with Ada, and she could fill it with the romantic gestures and attempts at perfect love that she’d told herself she would give this woman—but the foundation and the tower itself must be function over form. Because durability was the goal.

Her ribcage hollowed out with a sudden desire to see Ada again. To take her by the hand and quietly tell her _, It’s alright, we’ll work through this, it won’t be easy but please trust me, trust me again and I’ll prove it was the best decision of your life, every day until eternity, I’ll prove myself over and over again and you’ll never regret it, not once, not ever._

Of course, this was something else that could not be shared with Dimity Drill. Instead, Hecate merely smirked, arched her brow, and decreed, a bit haughtily, “Well, Miss Drill, it seems that you have more depth than I gave you credit for.”

“You know me, HB,” Dimity flashed a winning smile. “I always aim to amaze and astound.”

“And one other thing.” HB held up her index finger.

“Name it.”

“Please don’t ever use the phrase _gal pals_ again.”

“I know, it felt weird even as I was saying it,” Dimity admitted with a grimace. HB fought back a grin.

“So we are agreed?”

“Agreed.” After a beat, she clarified, “Could we still have a cool name, though? Like…broom buddies?”

“That sounds a bit…off-color.”

“Ah, I see the point…witch bitches?”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Hecate wrinkled her nose.

“But both labels apply.” Dimity pointed out. HB gave a small shrug of agreement. Dimity fell into thoughtful silence.

They walked several more yards at a leisurely pace before HB quietly said, “We could just call ourselves friends.”

“Friends?” Dimity felt a trill of hope. It was silly, but she felt as if she were just offered a knighthood.

“Not nearly as ridiculous sounding, a bit trite, but it gets the job done,” HB gave a nonchalant wave of her hands as she made her case.

“Yeah,” Dimity knew she was grinning like a fool, but she didn’t care. “Yeah, it does.”

HB gave a curt nod of approval. The corner of her mouth lifted into the smallest of smirks. Dimity looped her arm through HB’s again, and this time, the woman didn’t pull away.

But putting a new label on things didn’t change the nature of their relationship. Dimity couldn’t help but ask, “So…do you sleep with all of your friends, or is that a _special_ friendship package?”

* * *

 

She was running through Father’s orchards, spindly four-year-old legs zipping through the knee-high grass that the summer workers hadn’t sheared yet, alive with lightning and happiness. Over the spring, she’d grown taller. Heck had bemoaned her lack of baby face when she came home for the summer, had still pinched her cheeks and cuddled her like a baby, despite it all. And Circe had squirmed and protested, but she didn’t mean it. Heck knew that. Heck knew everything.

Now she was happy, playing a game with Heck again. Mother and Father were gone, the house was gloriously silent, and the boys had left to fish in Miller’s pond or chase Mr. McElrod’s sheep or whatever it was that boys did during the summertime. So it was just her and her sister. Just how she liked it.

Alastor was a good big brother, Circe knew. But it wasn’t the same as having Hecate around. Alastor was only five years older, so he didn’t dote on her the same way. Yes, he always made sure she was safely tucked away when Mother and Father started yelling, and he always made sure to walk her to school and defend her against any bullies along the way, but he didn’t hug her or tell her how special she was, or sing her songs when the nightmares came or the storms shook the house.

There was only one Hecate. And she was finally home again.

Circe was alive with joy, and she’d wanted to race the wind that whipped across the yard—so she did. She raced right through the open wooden gate, right through the cathedral of apple trees that arched overhead, oblivious to her surroundings.

She didn’t know that she shouldn’t be there. Didn’t remember. Had always been shielded from that lesson, shielded by Heck and Alastor and her other brothers.

Somehow, she sensed Heck behind her, could hear her, despite the wind racing past her ears. Footsteps hard and fast and heavy, fear in every pound.

_Circe! Circe, come back!_ She could hear the strain in Heck’s voice, could hear the near-frantic warning, the impulse, the terror.

She’d never heard Heck sound like that before. It made her afraid. Made her run faster, run farther.

_Circe, please!_ Oh, was Heck mad at her now? The thought burbled in her stomach like lemon juice, sour and unpleasant. She pushed her legs faster. Tears stung her eyes and made her confused. Why was she crying? She’d just been so happy. Why was she running away from Heck? She’d just been so excited to see her.

Her head was hurting. It was hurting really bad. And her mouth hurt, too. And her tummy was hurting, she’d run too hard, taken too many big gulps of air. Her ribs felt hot and tight.

_Circe, come back! Please, stop!_

Why couldn’t she stop running? Why was the sky going black? That wasn’t right…it was all wrong, all of it. She was wobbling off-course, legs still moving although the world seemed to slow down.

_Circe!_ Heck was standing in front of her now, jolting her to a stop as she grabbed her shoulders. Her big dark eyes were filled with fear and worry. _Circe, we have to go back now. It isn’t safe here. You have to come back._

Circe nodded, and the action sent a stab of white-hot pain through her head. She heard a groan, the sound dragging her back into the present, into reality.

Who was making that sound? Was that her?

It was. She was awake and she was alive and goddess above she was _in agony_ , but it was a better sign than the warm peacefulness she'd felt in her weird memory-turned-dream. Pain was the body fighting to survive, reminding you that certain things needed to be taken care of, because it was still invested in its continued existence. When the pain stopped and peace fell, that was the time to worry. She'd seen enough animals die, had even cradled a few wild creatures in her arms during their last moments, all wildness gone and replaced by serene passivity. That would not be how this day ended, she vowed. She would not give her captor the satisfaction, would not give her sister the grief.

She gritted her teeth and instantly regretted it. She pushed her hands out behind her, relishing the smooth coolness of the earth beneath her palms. The wall was lined with boards to keep the cellar from caving in, but soil had slipped under the base over the years. This soil was good soil—loose and relatively moist and with enough air for roots to push through.

She closed her eyes again but not because she was tired. She needed to concentrate.

_Rains may fall and winds may blow, from the earth these roots shall grow. Through the soil, through the ground, do not stop til air is found. Reach out fast, reach out true, til you bloom in full view. Petals blue and leaves of green, only by blood of my blood be seen._

There. That should do it. Only Heck would be able to see her little signs; her captor would be none the wiser of what she was doing.

She spent a few more minutes concentrating on her spell, feeling the roots begin to form and curl through the soil. Then she set her mind to another spell, with a different intent.

These witches would learn what it meant to take on a Hardbroom.

* * *

 

Despite the sunshine, the early afternoon felt cold as Ada flew over the frozen fields. Ahead, Miss Pentangle’s broom led the way, enchanted with the coordinates given on the message casket. They hadn’t really spoken on the flight—Miss Pentangle had called a few more close friends to enquire about Asteria Allbright, but the response had been disappointingly the same. The woman was an enigma, and she didn’t seem to have any friends.

Ada knew the truth—she had friends, coven sisters, and they were a well-guarded secret. That was the only way they could all continue to function in witching society, to infiltrate other institutions and continue their quest to bring Agatha back.

Part of her wondered how her sister held such power over these women. Part of her knew, having witnessed Agatha’s charm whenever she was intent on a goal, be it for personal or professional reasons. She thought back to her time in the Wailing Wishmaker, to the charm’s final attempt to keep Ada locked inside—it had morphed into a version of Hecate, breathy and pleading, begging Ada to stay, promising her anything and everything her heart desired in exchange. _We’ll build whatever kind of world you want. And I’ll be here, always. I’ll be everything you want me to be….You can have it all—all of me, the best of me_ ,  _always_.

Ada had hated it, had hated that false and simpering version, so devoid of anything even resembling her headstrong and at-times infuriatingly dead-set deputy. She couldn’t imagine inspiring that kind of rabid devotion in anyone, much less doing it _intentionally_ , to _multiple_ people. Was Agatha’s need for love and acceptance so great, that she had to go to such lengths? Or was that a need for control and dominance instead?

She shook her head, knowing that the answer would forever elude her. That was the hardest part of losing Agatha—losing any chance at reconciliation, and any chance at understanding along with it. Sometimes she felt as if she’d failed her sister, yet again. Failed to help her, to save her.

She knew that Hecate would fight her tooth and nail over such a belief. Would fervently remind Ada that Agatha had made her own choices, and by doing so, had accepted whatever consequences followed. Would beg Ada to remember her own goodness, to recall all the times she _had_ tried, and all the times Agatha had made it clear that her attempts were neither welcome nor desired.

_Please don’t let me lose this. Don’t let me lose this woman, this light she brings me, this hope she gives me._ Just a few hours before, she’d prayed that as long as Circe was safe, she would endure whatever consequence befell her, even if it meant losing Hecate’s love. Even then, perhaps, she’d known it was a lie. Ada Cackle was inherently a woman who always looked for more. She wanted more of Hecate and more of this soft romance unfolding around them, more time to enjoy this wondrous new part of her life, more time with Hecate, just…more time for everything. She couldn’t help herself. For years, she’d not allowed herself to truly consider anything past the best of friendship with her deputy, and now that the door was opened, there would be no closing it again, no corralling those energetic little emotions and stuffing them away again.

She could only hope that Hecate felt the same.

“We’re almost there,” Miss Pentangle’s voice carried across the wind, and Ada focused her blue eyes on the horizon. A forest of snow-capped trees glittered in the distance, its vastness almost overwhelming. It made Hollow Wood look like a village green.

There was a strange wink, a flutter in the sky. Ada wasn’t sure she’d actually seen it, at first. Then it came again. She frowned, squinting as she pushed her broom to move faster, zipping past Miss Pentangle to get closer. There it was again—a fluttering thing.

She slowed her approach, feeling Miss Pentangle do the same behind her. Up close, without the blue sky to wash it out, she suddenly realized what the strange thing was.

A luna moth. Dancing, glowing, looping lazily in the sky, never straying too far from whatever magic anchored it to that spot.

_Hecate_. Her heart surged with warmth, spreading across her face in a soft smile. She remembered the night of the Samhain ceremony, Hecate raising her staff to the sky and releasing these beautiful things into the darkness. She remembered the feeling of that night, of knowing there was something deeper happening, of seeing Hecate’s tears and knowing that she’d finally done something grand enough to prove her affections, to finally make Hecate see how much she cared.

Hecate could have left anything as a beacon, anything at all. Yet she chose this. She would have remembered that night as well, quietly sending it into the sky.

So what did it mean? Ada wasn’t sure, but she felt that it had to be a good sign. Hecate still remembered all that they were, even in the hard and hurting times. She still wanted the same thing that Ada did, still felt the same way, despite all that had happened.

Yes, it was a beacon, but it was more than that. It was a peace offering, a love letter, an invitation, a sign.  _Find me, Ada. I’m still here._


	6. Chapter 6

Ada’s stomach tied itself into seventy different knots as their brought their brooms down to the area marked by the glowing luna moth. Dimity had warned them of what would happen if they tried flying their brooms directly into the forest—Ada had wondered if that was part of Asteria Allbright’s plan, to have them wreck their brooms and possibly injure themselves along the way. She wouldn’t put it past an associate of her sister’s.

Once both witches had their brooms safely tucked away, Ada took a deep breath, realizing that there was no more delaying the inevitable. She pushed out with her magic, casting a summoning spell for Dimity—not the full spell, merely enough magic to let Dimity feel the pull, to realize they were here.

Miss Pentangle hadn’t spoken, but her nervousness didn’t need words. Her eyes were the size of saucers and her lips were pressed into a thin line, the taut set of her shoulders still noticeable under the heavy fur mantle of her extremely pink traveling cloak.

Ada felt the beginnings of Dimity’s summoning spell in return, and she instinctively grabbed Miss Pentangle’s hand as they were dragged forward in space. The younger witch gave a small sound of dismay, and Ada suddenly remembered that she hated being transferred without warning.

The first sensation that Ada registered was warmth—the bite of winter wasn’t present in the woods, perhaps shielding them with the thick foliage. Then she blinked, looking around in slight wonder as she realized that there wasn’t any snow around them. The woods were trapped in some kind of spell, protected from the elements outside.

She turned to see Dimity’s sweet, smiling face—she was sure her own held just as much trepidation. And then, further back, behind Dimity, a face that sent a pang through her heart.

 _Hecate_. Pale and exhausted and tinged with fear, but still every bit herself, still every bit as loved, still holding every ounce of Ada’s heart in her hands.

Ada moved toward her, and Hecate took a small, uncertain step backwards, like an errant child being caught wandering the halls after lights out. Ada’s heart melted again, and she took another step forward, scooping Hecate’s hands into her own, rubbing her thumbs over the knuckles.

“I’m here now,” was all she said, all she could say. She hoped Hecate could infer the rest. _I’m here now, I know I wasn’t before, but I am now and I am with you, in all things._

Something passed through Hecate’s dark eyes, and she simply gave a single, small nod. Her gaze ripped away, distracted by the pink-clad cannon ball barreling towards her.

“Hiccup,” Pippa breathed, enveloping her in a hug. Ada felt a small wave of irritation—not at Pippa, but at herself. _That_ was how she should have greeted Hecate, the thoughts and opinions of their other traveling companions be damned. But it wasn’t that simple, was it? She’d made a mess of things and hadn’t wanted to make things worse by trapping Hecate into a public display of affection, something she would most likely loathe. She really didn’t need to give the woman any more reasons to be upset with her.

“I’m so glad you’re alright,” Pippa squeezed her childhood friend tight.

Hecate gently disengaged, ducking her head and clearing her throat—an action that would have hurt Pippa, except that Hecate’s hands stayed on Pippa’s arms, returning her relief in the best way that she could. “Thank you for—for helping, for coming, for…well, you didn’t have to.”

“Of course I did,” Pippa countered.

“Don’t act as if you wouldn’t do exactly the same thing,” Dimity Drill piped up, an amused grin on her features.

Hecate looked up, surprised by Dimity’s intrusion and more so by the realization that she was absolutely right. If the situation had been reversed, for any of these women, she would have been here still, helping them. Perhaps Ada was right. Perhaps she was a better person than she gave herself credit for.

_Please let that goodness fall in my favor. Please, keep Circe safe and I will never ask for anything, ever again._

The loss of Circe landed solidly in her gut, swift and unexpected. She’d been able to distract herself over the past few hours, fixating on this issue with Ada to keep from being overwhelmed by a much darker possibility. Much like when she’d abandoned her friendship with Pippa and had spent the next three months obsessively fixating on potential universities, taking countless tours and staying up all hours of the night to compare course offerings, convinced that if she didn’t make the absolutely most perfect choice, then her entire life would be ruined.

But Ada was here now and her fears over seeing her again, her attempts to predict both Ada’s reaction and her own, were laid to rest. Which meant there were no more distractions.

Ada saw the sudden terror in Hecate’s eyes, and she stepped forward again, speaking quickly, “We know who took her, Hecate. A witch named Asteria Allbright—that’s the one we saw in the Mists of Time. And we know where she is.”

Pippa produced the message casket, holding it out for Hecate’s inspection. “It’s a map, of sorts.”

“She sent a message?” Hecate guessed, taking the wooden casket and turning it over in her hands. Ada made a small sound of affirmation, knowing what would come next and still praying it wouldn’t. But rather predictably, Hecate asked, “May I see it?”

Now Pippa’s eyes were wide with rapt curiosity as Miss Cackle took the piece of parchment from her pocket and gingerly placed it in Hecate’s waiting hand. She still wasn’t entirely sure that the two witches were lovers, but Hecate’s reaction would answer her question—sweet Hiccup, she’d always been absolutely terrible at schooling her expression into something unreadable whenever shocked or surprised.

Hecate took the note, desperate for some kind of clue, some kind of reassurance that Circe was well. The word _lover_ came as surprise, and she couldn’t stop herself from glancing up at Ada, knowing the woman had read these words as well.

Ada was merely looking back at her, blue eyes hesitant and questioning. Not really refuting the claim, just waiting for Hecate to decide whether she wanted to accept it or not.

Hecate pressed her lips into a thin line and returned her gaze to the parchment, unable to stop the heat spreading across her cheeks to the tips of her ears.

Oh sweet goddess above, they _were_ together. Pippa felt a ripple of surprise, even though she’d known it was a possibility at this point. The surprise quickly muted into bubbly happiness and a desire to squeal, which she quickly suppressed by ducking her head and shifting away, closer to Miss Drill.

“Thank you, for not letting her run off on her own,” Pippa kept her voice low, knowing Hecate would hate to hear such a thing.

“Just doing my job as patron saint of idiotic ideas,” the flying instructor drawled, absolutely stone-faced.

Pippa realized that she hadn’t spent much time around Miss Drill before, and she regretted it. The woman was going to be a delight, she could tell.

“Well, then as the patron saint of incredibly good luck, I think it’s a good thing we’re both here.”

Miss Drill merely smiled at that, giving a small nod of agreement.

Miss Cackle was turning back to them, motioning towards Pippa again, “Thankfully, Miss Pentangle can actually read the runes.”

Pippa took her cue, stepping forward again, “Yes, and the first instruction is to head north. We’re looking for blue trees.”

“Blue trees?” Hecate’s face scrunched in confusion. “Pippa, are you sure you read that correctly?”

“I am, thank you very much,” Pippa put her hands on her hips, her irritation mainly feigned. “And seeing as we’re in a forest enchanted to keep out winter, I don’t think blue trees would be too impossible to fathom.”

The corner of Hecate’s mouth twitched, and Pippa knew she was holding back a smirk.

Ada tilted her head upwards, scanning the trees. “I’ve noticed something else—it’s awfully quiet. Have you heard any birds since you’ve been here?”

Dimity frowned, “I don’t think so, now that you mention it. There’s so much weirdness going on in here, it’s hard to process it all.”

“We’re fairly certain that Asteria Allbright has a raven as a familiar,” Ada continued, still frowning up at the sky. “It’s best to assume that she knows we’re here and will most likely send it out to check on us.”

“And what if it sees me?” Hecate looked at Ada, face filled with worry. “What if it somehow tells her, and she realizes that Circe isn’t me?”

Dimity was moving forward now, and Pippa instinctively followed. Once they were huddled together, Dimity whipped her arm overhead, creating a shield, “Alright. We’re invisible and in the cone of silence for now.”

Hecate still rolled her eyes at the phrase.

Dimity continued, “I agree with Ada’s assessment that this Allbright witch knows we’re here—if she doesn’t already know, then she will soon enough. And she’ll keep tabs on us, she’d be an idiot not to. Let’s assume she can communicate fairly well with her familiar.”

Hecate nodded in agreement. Years ago, she’d taught Morgana how to relay information through a series of yes-or-no questions and a set of plastic cups (she’d kept pushing the ceramic ones off the table and shattering them, true to her feline nature). Ravens were highly intelligent, somewhat capable of human speech. It would be safest to assume that Asteria Allbright used every tool to its full advantage.

“So…at some point, she’s gonna at least know that there’s four of us,” Dimity pointed out. “I don’t care how powerful a witch is, no one’s going to be foolish enough to take on the odds of four-to-one.”

“She’ll bring in backup,” Hecate suddenly understood.

Dimity nodded. “She wasn’t alone when she took Circe—there were three of them. We have to assume we’ll be up against at least three witches.”

Pippa glanced over at Miss Cackle. They hadn’t even shared all that they knew about Asteria. The younger blonde spoke up, “I think we should formulate a plan, before we go any further. Asteria Allbright is an accomplished duelist and she worked for the Defense Committee. It’s safe to say that strategy is her forte, and she’s been preparing for this day a lot longer than we have.”

The other women nodded in agreement. Hecate clenched her fists, released them, flexed her fingers as she quietly decreed. “I do have a plan. It’s—when I thought I was going in alone, I considered all my options and found the best one. Obviously, it needs modifications, now that we’re all here—but I still think it’s our best option.”

She took a moment to glance at the faces around her, bracing for protests. But none came. Dimity gestured towards her in mild impatience, “Well, don’t leave us hanging, woman.”

“Right,” Hecate took a deep breath, feeling slightly off-balance. These women trusted her, trusted her with their _lives_ , how mad were they, how mad was she for even thinking this could work?

There was really only one way to answer such a question.

* * *

 

Circe was finding it harder and harder to swallow. Aside from what she was certain was a very swollen jaw (she couldn’t be sure, as her hands were still tied behind her back, but it probably was, given the tightness she felt in her skin and just how hard the blow had been), she hadn’t had a drop of water since her abduction and the dehydration was making itself known in her body.

That was the first lesson of surviving the wilderness—hydrate or die. She really wasn’t even going to consider the second option. Which meant she would have to ask her charming captor for water. Further proving the imbalance in power.

 _Use that to your advantage_ , her inner voice prompted, but it didn’t give her any ideas as to _how_ to do that. Her brain was getting more and more flighty, finding it harder to focus, to stay on track. Another side effect of dehydration, she knew.

She didn’t care, at this moment. She couldn’t think straight, and the only answer was water. She opened her mouth to call out, but a dry croaking sound was the only thing she could produce—an effect of the lack of water or her captor’s earlier outburst, she couldn’t be entirely sure.

Still, it was enough noise to bring the woman back, the door creaking open as a single cautious step sounded in the room.

“Water,” Circe managed to speak, pushing the word with as much strength as she could. “Please. Water.”

Goddess, she shouldn’t be so fucking polite. It was in the stranger’s best interest to keep her alive, she should be making all sorts of demands for comfort and sustenance—however, she wisely recognized that her captor wasn’t exactly the sanest or most predictable of individuals, so it was probably best not to test the boundaries too much.

Thankfully, the woman stayed relatively predictable in this moment, moving forward to produce a small pewter cup. She crouched before Circe, bringing the cup to her lips. The cold water was a relief. Circe closed her eyes, sending silent thanks to the Goddess for this small gift.

“Don’t worry,” the stranger’s voice was surprisingly soft. “This will all be over soon enough.”

Now Circe felt a stab of fear, her big brown eyes flicking up to the woman’s hovering form, whose features were blocked by shadow, blow out by the bright light from the open doorway behind her. Still, she could feel the wolfish smile beaming down at her.

“You have just enough time to think about your actions—to think of how you should have never been foolish enough to take on Agatha Cackle and truly expect to win, or to escape without consequence.”

With that, the cup withdrew as the stranger stood, triumphant in her victory.

 _Oh, lady, if you only knew the measure of the witch coming after you_ , Circe thought, and wisely kept that thought to herself.

For the first time, Circe heard the sound of other people, other witches. A voice called out, “Asteria!”

Her captor turned pertly on her heel, moving across the room with envious ease, not even bothering to glance back as she closed the door. Circe heard the quick snap of her feet upon the wooden steps that must be just outside the door, leaving the cellar to return to the house above.

Asteria. Her name was Asteria. Circe’s face set in a mask of determination. _Well, twinkle while you can, little star. Because you’re about to fall._

She slowly turned her face back to the ceiling, to the small window of light above her. The day was drawing to a close, she knew, meaning it was mid-afternoon. If she had her days right, tomorrow would be Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year. Yet somehow she knew it would feel like the longest day of her life.

Part of her still feared falling asleep, but at this point, she could barely keep her eyes open. _Oh, Heck, please come soon._

She pressed her hands into the soil behind her, sending forth another push of magic, willing her spells to continue working, to work faster, to bring about her salvation sooner.

The effort took more energy, only increasing the fatigue settling into her limbs. She understood that she had no choice—she would sleep, regardless of whether or not she’d ever wake again.

She tumbled into a hazy half-world, fleeting flashes of childhood memories muting into dreams that disappeared without warning, slipping through gauzy apparitions and occasional sparks of pain from her body. She welcomed the pain, held onto it, her only surety that she was still alive, still fighting, still winning.

* * *

 

Dimity was thankful that the silence wasn’t awkward anymore. After HB had explained her plan, it had made sense to keep her invisible, since technically she was supposed to be currently in the clutches of Agatha's coven. She’d kept quiet the rest of the journey, and Ada had been similarly silent, preoccupied with her own thoughts, it seemed.

Miss Pentangle occasionally offered commentary, but for the most part, she trudged on, focusing on the message casket in her hands, reading and re-reading the runes as if they might somehow change. They were headed in the right direction, quite literally, as Dimity had produced her pathfinding compass and had kept them moving north, but no blue trees in sight.

There wasn’t much in sight, to be honest. Night was falling fast, the shadows of the forest growing larger and larger. Dimity felt the effects of the day, her muscles beginning to protest and whine under the constant movement (she wasn’t entirely sure how a lazy-ass like HB was still moving, and a few times, she’d stopped to make sure she could still hear the woman’s footsteps, to make sure she hadn’t collapsed). The protein bars she’d eaten along the way hadn’t done much to help her hunger.

“We should consider stopping for the night,” Miss Pentangle gave voice to Dimity’s thoughts. “It’s getting dark—soon we won’t be able to tell blue trees from pink trees.”

Ada gave a nod of agreement. There was a moment as they waited to hear HB’s voice. Dimity heard a sigh, and then, the potions mistress acquiesced. “I suppose we should.”

Raising her hands over her head with a flourish, Miss Pentangle produced a tent and a little fire, which crackled welcomingly.

“There,” she gave a curt nod of self-approval. “Hecate, you can lift your invisibility spell, once you’re inside the tent.”

There was no response, except the sound of footsteps and the tent flap lifting, seemingly by its own accord. Dimity glanced over at Ada, to see if she would follow and check on her deputy, but the older woman made no such move. Her expression was one of uneasy fear, and Dimity fully understood that whatever talk they’d had before HB had taken off, it certainly hadn’t ended well (Dimity had already guessed what much—why else would HB have left without Ada in the first place?).

Miss Pentangle cut a quick glance at Ada as well ( _wait, what, did she know, how did she know, what did she know, did Ada say something?!_ ), before quietly moving into the tent. A feather could have knocked Dimity over, but right now, she needed to be on her feet—mentally, at least. With a flick of her wrist, she produced two large sitting pillows next to the fire. Ada looked up at her, and Dimity jerked her chin in the direction of the fire and the pillows. _C’mon_.

Her headmistress merely followed along, and they quietly took their seats. Dimity magicked another pillow, just in case Miss Pentangle reappeared.

“Long day,” she broke the silence with a sigh. Ada hummed in agreement. So the burden of moving the conversation would be on Dimity’s shoulders, then. She produced a metal tea tin, floated it over the fire to let the water boil, taking a moment to magic all the other accoutrements. She could have produced the tea ready-made, but there was something to be said about campfire tea, something rustic and comforting that she couldn’t quite define.

“I reckon we’ll reach this Allbright woman’s place by tomorrow,” Dimity spoke up again, keeping her gaze on the fire. And again, Ada didn’t reply. So Dimity added, lowering her voice even more. “It would probably be best if HB wasn’t distracted by…other matters, when the time comes to face her.”

Now she turned to look fully at the blonde, her face filled with meaning that Ada couldn’t misinterpret _. I don’t know what’s going on at this point, but you need to fix it now._

Ada’s eyes were wide with shock, but she quickly recovered, simply turning back to the fire with an exhausted sigh. Her blue eyes flicked over to the tent, and Dimity understood. Ada wasn’t thrilled about the thought of having an audience for such a conversation.

“Miss Pentangle and I will make sure the campsite is safe. We’ll put the protection spells far enough away from the tent to give us time to prepare, if there’s an attack.” It actually was a solid idea, but it also bought Ada and HB a little bit of privacy.

Now she just had to get Miss Pentangle to go along with it.

* * *

 

Hecate gave a heavy sigh of relief as she lifted the invisibility spell. She felt drained, and she couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason—the aftereffects of Ada’s sleeping spell, the interminable walking, the stress of worrying over Circe, maybe all three? Normally an invisibility spell wouldn’t be so taxing.

Camp beds appeared, and Hecate turned to see Pippa standing inside the tent, eyes and hands flitting around, making cozy touches to the area. Finally, Pippa looked at her, giving a small, uncertain smile.

“I just—I wanted you to feel comfortable,” the blonde offered. “I know how you hate camping.”

A reference to their teen years. Hecate merely offered a wan smile. Pippa took a hesitant step forward. “Are you…how are you?”

“My sister has been kidnapped because someone wanted to punish me for removing an evil witch from society,” Hecate’s tone was flat. “She’s been missing for almost twenty-four hours, during which I—”

She stopped herself. She couldn’t reveal the rest, spilling the messy truth into Pippa’s lap like some kind of poisonous potion. She scrubbed her face with her hands, schooling herself into a less emotional response. “I’ve had better days, Pippa.”

“Of course,” the blonde ducked her head, chastised. “I know—I just—I’m not sure how to help you. But I’m here, and I _do_ want to help, however you need me to.”

When she found the courage to glance up again, she was surprised to see a soft smile on Hecate’s face.

“You are helping, Pipsqueak. And I’m so very…grateful for your help.”

Pippa merely nodded, clasping her hands together again. She still had so much to say ( _I forgive you, will you ever truly forgive me, I’m happy for you and I want you to be happy, can we just be friends again, can we ever be alright again, please be alright, please please be alright_ ), but now was not the time to say them. So instead, she quietly walked over, wrapped her old friend in a hug, and then left the tent.

She nearly ran into Miss Drill, who jumped back, slightly scared by her sudden appearance as well.

“Oh! Miss Pentangle—”

“Pippa, please.” She took the little tin cup of tea that Miss Drill offered, giving a small sip out of politeness and being pleasantly surprised to find that it was actually good.

“Pippa, right. I was thinking—we should set protection hedges around the camp. You and I. And we should make sure it’s far enough out…to give us a heads up.” Miss Drill was still acting a little odd (or at least Pippa guessed she was, maybe the woman was like this always), but her words made sense.

“Excellent idea, Miss Drill—”

“Dimity. Seems only fair.”

“Dimity,” Pippa nodded. “Perhaps Ada could—”

“Stay here and keep an eye on things?” Dimity finished with a meaningful tilt of her head. It took Pippa a second to comprehend her nonverbal cues, but then she quickly nodded in understanding.

“Yes, exactly. Of course.” She followed the other woman’s lead as they quietly left the campsite. Dimity produced a lantern, muting the glow so that it was softer and actually made it easier to see in the shadows instead of blowing out their limited nightvision. Pippa didn’t resist the urge to glance over her shoulder one last time, to see Ada Cackle rising to her feet and slowly approaching the tent. She smiled a little. Someone was going to take care of Hecate. Good.

* * *

 

Ada’s hands were trembling and her stomach was flipping in on itself, but she kept moving forward. Because Dimity was right—she knew that whatever came tomorrow, it would not be easy. They would all need to be at their best, and for Hecate, that meant a mind free from distraction.

There had been times during the day when she’d sensed Hecate walking near her, had resisted the urge to reach out, to find her, to speak, to do something to move them forward, but the timing never seemed to be right. Ada sent a small prayer of gratitude out to Dimity Drill for finally providing a chance for some relative privacy.

She gingerly lifted the flap of the canvas tent, quietly calling out, “Hecate?”

Hecate was there, of course. Already stretched out on a camp bed, blanket half-heartedly wrapped around her legs as if it were an afterthought, looking impossibly small. Her back was turned to Ada, and for a moment, the blonde assumed she was already fast asleep (not that Ada would blame her—it had been a tiring day for all of them, most of all Hecate). But then, a tiny voice replied, “I’m here.”

 _I’m here. I’m still here._ Ada understood those simple words weren’t just about physicality or consciousness, but an invitation. She fully moved into the tent, closing the flap behind her. She took a moment to contemplate her next move—Hecate still hadn’t turned to face her, and yet she didn’t want to stand here, stand so far away, clutching her hands like some helpless fool.

So she magicked a chair next to the camp bed, sitting down and trying to ignore the pang in her heart at the way Hecate’s shoulders tightened at her approach, as if expecting a blow.

The silence pressed so hard on Hecate’s chest that she could barely breathe. Her fists clenched, both dreading and desperate to hear Ada’s next words, praying the woman would be the one to speak first, because she didn’t know what to say, how to start this painful and necessary conversation. _Please don’t let me drown here, please say something, please save us._

“I’m sorry,” Ada breathed. The air left Hecate’s lungs just as easily, and she barely dared to take a shallow breath as the blonde continued. “I’m sorry that I put us…here. I’m sorry that I made you think—that you felt, for even a second, that I didn’t, that I don’t…”

Ada was stumbling over her words, stumbling over the tears slipping from her eyes, hot and fast, stumbling over all the emotions swirling in her chest. She’d told herself that she couldn’t apologize for doing whatever it took to keep Hecate safe, had told herself that she could never truly be sorry for such a thing, and now she realized how stupid and selfish that idea was. How prideful. How utterly out of place in a love that had been built upon self-sacrifice and self-denial. Because she did regret the fallout from her actions. She regretted being here, in this emotional bog, regretted putting Hecate here, too. Regretted, regretted, regretted.

But she had to find the words. Hecate deserved that much, at the very least. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes to steady herself, and pushed forward. “I trust you, Hecate. I trust you with every fiber of my being, and I hate that I ever made you think that I didn’t. But I don’t trust myself. I never truly have, I don’t think. The person that you see in me—the one you trusted, the one you…cared about, I’m not sure she ever really existed. And ever since we decided to move forward with this…with admitting how we truly felt, I’ve felt this fear. Fear that one day, you’re going to realize that the woman you loved doesn’t exist. That she never did.”

She felt Hecate stiffen in response, but the woman didn’t object, didn’t interrupt. Oh, goddess, had that day finally come? Had Hecate truly realized that version of Ada was a fantasy, a farce? Had she finally seen the true Ada, and realized that she didn’t much care for it?

Ada kept talking. It was better than the uncertain silence. As long as Hecate was listening, she still had a chance. “When I—what I did in the potions storeroom, putting you to sleep like that, it wasn’t—every time I have wanted to do something that you found detrimental or unwise, you have talked me out of it. Your logic and your wisdom have walked me back from the brink countless times. But I…I didn’t think I could do the same. I didn’t do it because I didn’t trust you. I did it because I didn’t trust myself. I didn’t trust my ability to convince you, to…make you stay. And I ended up doing exactly what I had feared. I can never fully express how much I….”

She looked down at her hands. She was rambling now, she knew. She needed to stop, to let Hecate take in her words, to weigh them and decide if they held enough merit.

Hecate swallowed, no longer even attempting to blink back the tears that slipped down her face, sliding sideways onto the pillow beneath her cheek. She heard the remorse and the self-loathing in Ada’s voice, and it tore her heart to shreds. Ada, so good and kind and talented, Ada with all her power that she only ever wanted to use for good, Ada so wonderful in so many ways, still couldn’t see her own goodness. Still thought Hecate’s devotion was born from some kind of blind faith. Hecate wanted to argue, to tell her that she’d always seen the other side, that she’d loved that side just as much (perhaps even more so, perhaps even more fiercely), that her greatest respect for Ada came from watching the woman push past her doubts to do the right thing, every time, regardless of how it would affect her, regardless of what was easier or more beneficial to herself.

But her tongue stayed stuck to the roof of her mouth, helpless against the onslaught of Ada’s emotion. Because she understood the weight of unworthiness, the sharp, gnawing dread of finally being found out, of finally be recognized as inferior and undeserving of such love and affection, of always waiting for the other shoe to drop, the realization to dawn, the love to be taken away. She’d felt a similar fear in regards to Ada—that one day, Ada would realize how imperfect Hecate was, that she’d return to her senses and leave this pathetic attempt at romance behind her.

Again, Hecate felt a small prickle of understanding that perhaps love wasn’t a thing of worthiness. Perhaps it was, at some point, simply a conscious decision. A decision to love and accept, regardless of merits and character flaws and imperfections.

Still, she’d learned a long time ago that people could say many things, could feign any emotion necessary to get what they wanted, and while she doubted this was the case for Ada, she still had to know. She cleared her throat, trying to hide the tears that were there. “You could have just come with me. If you trusted me, you should have just let me go.”

“You were in no state, mentally or physically, to take on anyone,” Ada returned, her voice filled with heartbroken certainty. “You couldn’t even manage a transfer from my office to the storeroom. I knew you needed to rest and I—I didn’t think I could convince you to actually do it. It’s not…I’m not saying that’s a justified excuse, I just—it wasn't justified at all. I know that, Hecate, I know there is no excuse. I know...”

Again, the words were lost, unreachable. But Hecate had responded, had shown that she was listening. That was something, Ada decided.

But Hecate still didn’t understand. She didn’t understand the absolute terror that had filled Ada’s veins, the dreadful certainty that her own heart was going to leave and never return alive. She clenched her hands together, hoping that she was doing the right thing. “After the Wailing Wishmaker, I told you that I’d seen several alternate realities, about us. And I told you that I knew this path, this reality, was the one we were meant to be in. But I never—I didn’t tell you exactly what I saw, and exactly how I knew.”

She could feel Hecate’s curiosity, could feel the way the other woman shifted slightly in response. _Great goddess above, please don’t let her think that I’m trying to manipulate her. Please let her see what I’m trying to explain, please let her understand._

Ada took another deep breath. “Hecate, I saw a world where we never became friends at all. And a world where you loved someone else.”

She wouldn’t mention that someone else was actually Agatha—poor Hecate would probably be traumatized at the thought. She took a moment to prepare herself before continuing, “And another time I…I watched you die, Hecate. In every variation, I lost you in some new and painful way. If I had to devise a form of torture, I couldn’t imagine a crueler thing than that. Than loving you as deeply as I do and being forced to lose you, over and over again.”

 _Loving you as deeply as I do_. Hecate stopped breathing. Of course, the affection and devotion had been so evident over these past few months—the love had been undeclared, but always present, apparent even to someone as oblivious as Hecate Hardbroom. But something about finally hearing it aloud still had a surprising effect.

And oh, how Hecate wanted to turn around, to declare her love in return, to take Ada into her arms and tell her that it was all going to be alright, that she was forgiven, that she’d always been forgiven. But she remained frozen, frozen from fear, too tightly locked in her own self to move. She couldn’t look at Ada right now, couldn’t bear to take in the tears and the pained expression, couldn’t take any more grief in her own heart right now.

This was terrifying, Hecate realized. To be standing so close to this precipice and to know that there was no other way but to leap. But how did one summon the courage to actually make the jump?

She took a deep breath, willed her fists to unclench. Ada’s voice came again, tear-soaked and laced with fear, “Ever since then, I’ve just…it isn’t something I could just forget. And when you became so determined to take on that coven, when you were already so weak, I couldn’t help but immediately go back to that fear. I saw you dying, I saw myself losing you, all over again, and this time…this time there wouldn’t be a moment where I could wake up and find you still here, still alive. Still…you.”

Goddess, Hecate understood that fear, too. When Agatha had trapped Ada in the painting, Hecate had operated on pure terror, fueled by the shrieking fear that she would never see Ada again. And when Agatha had dueled Ada, when she’d so cruelly turned Ada into a snail—oh, her heart had stopped, hit with the reality that life was forever changed in the worst of ways. It was why she’d so vehemently opposed Ada’s idea to convince Agatha to return Esme’s powers. She’d hidden her fear, had used justifications of putting the school and the girls in danger, because she knew that Ada would never worry about herself, knew that she couldn’t reveal her feelings so blatantly.

And Ada had felt that same fear for her. She’d made Ada that afraid. And by instilling that fear in Ada, she’d turned her into the kind of person who could do such things. Was this all too much for Ada—had Hecate’s love turned into something bad, something dangerous, something detrimental? The thought shook her soul, shooting white-hot fear through her veins. Of all the things she’d feared from pursuing a romantic relationship, destroying Ada Cackle’s character had not even been a possibility in her mind—it was crime too great to fathom, an unforgiveable sin.

No. No, she couldn’t think like that. Ada had reacted in fear, and Hecate understood how fear could make people do things they’d never thought themselves capable of doing (fear turned her into a beast, she knew, sniping and snapping and cruel, more often than not—more like her mother than she ever wanted to be). And during all the times that Hecate had let fear rule, Ada had always been kind and compassionate, had never held her over the coals any more than she deserved, had often been more lenient than she should have been, to be truthful.

Oh, all the ways this woman had saved her, Hecate thought. Who would she have been, if not for Ada Cackle’s forgiveness in her life?

Hecate’s shoulders were shaking with silent sobs now, and Ada had no idea if that was a good sign or a bad one. She lamely finished, “And I’m sorry, Hecate. I’m sorry I let that fear rule my decisions, that I let it push me to do such an unforgiveable thing. And I do—I do understand if you aren’t willing to…continue. But I just need you to know that I would do anything to take it all back again, to earn your trust again, to undo the damage that I’ve done.”

There it was, then. All she could say, all she could do, at least until Hecate gave some kind of response. She rose to her feet again, knowing that the younger woman would need time alone with her thoughts and not wishing to impose her presence any longer than necessary.

She’d nearly made it to the tent entrance when she felt the prick on her wrist. The connection bangle, tingling with Hecate’s touch. She stopped dead in her tracks, eyes wide with shock. Hecate’s thumb rubbed small, persistent circles against Ada’s wrist, pressing deeper into the flesh, trying to telegraph a message that Ada couldn’t fully understand. She had the sensation of being tethered, of being reassured, beckoned back from the edge, a sailor answering a siren call.

“Stay.” Hecate’s voice was still small, but filled with urgency, with fear of loss. “Please.”

Ada filled with yet another wave of tears ( _oh yes I’ll stay, oh yes I’ll stay here, now, always, forever, I never left, I never will_ ), but she pushed them aside to focus on Hecate.

“Of course,” she forced herself to speak, turning back with a smile. _Anything for you._ “If that’s what you want.”

Hecate heard the love and devotion seeping through every syllable, and she felt a deep relief in response. She had so much to say, and yet she didn’t know how to say it. Being forgiving and benevolent wasn’t something she’d learned, wasn’t something ground into her nature during her nurturing, and she didn’t know how to respond to such a heartfelt expression of remorse. It wasn’t comfortable, seeing Ada brought so low and begging for forgiveness, even though part of her understood that it was necessary. Because Ada was right—her actions were indefensible, without excuse. But they were _understandable._ Still, there had to be boundaries. They had to be able to admit their faults and failings, and seek reparations. She was clinging to the fact that Ada had apologized, had understood the extent of her actions—Ada was still herself, still good, still untarnished by her association with Hecate, even if that association had become more intimate.

But she didn’t know how to put this into words, to put it in a way that didn’t sound condescending or further compound Ada’s regret. She needed time.

And she needed Ada. Needed her calming presence, needed her to see that she was forgiven, even if Hecate didn’t have the words to say so just yet. Her brain was still tumbling, still scrambling to find which words to say, which emotion to express first, how to best express it, how to properly convey feelings that she couldn’t even label just yet. Her frustration at her inability to _just do the thing_ only increased her anxiety, only made her brain retreat further into itself.

Because this wasn’t something that she’d learned either. Honesty, when it came to feelings. Vulnerability, and courage, and opening her heart without earth-shattering fear of reprisal or rejection. She clenched her fists tighter, feeling her palms sing with pain as her brain raced, trying to find the words to make Ada stay, to make Ada understand.

She squeezed her eyes shut, forced herself to breathe. What was the most important thing, just one thing ( _hurry, you helpless idiot, Ada’s waiting, Ada’s desperate to hear a word from you, she’s been so brave and so honest and you’ve just lain here, barely responding, leaving her floundering in fear, how could you not save her, how could you be so cruel_ )?

“Ada, you—there’s nothing—” Hecate clenched her jaw, trying not to scream in frustration at herself, to scream from the fear swirling in her gut, the fear of saying the wrong thing, ruining any chance at reconciliation, hurting Ada further. Her hands slipped up, palms pressing into her eyes as she forced herself to continue, her words coming quick and shaking, “I’m not blind, Ada. I’ve seen your faults—for a long time, I’ve been aware of how imperfect you were, and I have never cared. Never needed to. You are still so—you are _good_ , Ada. And worthy. Nothing will ever change that. Because you will never change—not who you are, who you truly are. I want to—I can’t say all the things I want to, not yet, but I’m trying—but I can’t let you continue thinking that you could ever lose me. I…please, don’t ever, _ever_ think that, ever again.”

Ada’s knees were so weak that she nearly slid to the ground. Hecate was still wrapped up in her own self, body language creating a protective little ball, shoulders trembling with fear and tears, and it rent Ada’s heart to shreds (because Hecate _was_ her heart, her little bruised and fearful heart, just wanting to be loved, to be safe, to be protected and cherished).

Hecate gave a deep, shaky sigh. The sensitive skin underneath her eyes was chafing from the pressure of her hands, already puffy from her tears. There, she’d said the most important thing, the thing that could not wait for her to find the perfect words, the things Ada absolutely needed to know in that moment. _Now just choose the next thing. It doesn’t have to be in perfect order, Ada understands you, she’s always understood you, even when you couldn’t understand yourself._

She heard the single, uncertain step, could feel Ada’s desire to come back to her, to comfort her. And oh, how she wanted Ada to come back, wanted Ada beside her, instilling her with that calm that only came from Ada’s presence.

More than anything, Hecate realized, she wanted Ada to just be with her. She was exhausted and she couldn’t keep pushing herself to rip open her chest anymore. Yes, there was more to be said, but Ada would give her time. She knew that much.

Hecate could find other ways to communicate, though. She shifted further away from Ada, to the edge of the camp bed, leaving more space for another body. She closed her eyes and hoped that Ada understood, hoped that she closed the distance between them, hoped that this was the right choice. Quietly, she said, “I just want to rest, for now. We can talk more in the morning, but for now, let’s just…rest.”

Ada stood still for a moment, not entirely sure that this wasn’t a figment of her imagination. But Hecate had moved, had made room for her—an absolutely bold move for her hesitant and uncertain deputy, who was never easy with her physical affection, who re-considered and overthought every action she’d ever taken in her entire life.

Another tentative brush of Hecate’s thumb through the connection bangle prompted her into action. Hecate was asking for peace, for comfort, for  _her_. She’d spent so many weeks and months being careful, staying back, letting Hecate take the lead, but now was not the time for hesitations or waiting—now was the time to act, to move, to prove to Hecate that she was here, always, and that she cared, always. That she could be to Hecate everything that Hecate was to her.

So she moved closer, slipping into the bed, laying down beside the woman who still turned away from her. She felt Hecate’s entire body go rigid, felt the hopeful fear radiating from her frame. She gently placed her hand on Hecate’s upper arm (nowhere improper, nothing that could be seen as wanting anything more than to comfort, nothing that might seem as if she expected anything in return), and with the small breath taken before the plunge, she quietly placed a reverent kiss on the woman’s shoulder blade.

Hecate jumped slightly, as if jolted by electricity. Ada’s mouth never left, never strayed. Just a single, strong, staying kiss. She closed her eyes, silently praying that her simple act would be understood ( _I love you I love you I love you I will give you strength I will give you faith I will give you comfort I will give you everything just say that’s what you want and I will give it all_ ).

Hecate’s shoulder shifted away from her, and for a brief flash of horror, Ada thought that she’d been too forward, that her silent plea at forgiveness had been misunderstood, that she'd somehow misinterpreted Hecate's request—but then she realized that the other woman was curving further inward, pressing her back further into Ada’s front, seeking her, _needing_ her.

Then a rustle, and then the warmth of Hecate’s hand, covering Ada’s hand, gently taking it, guiding it away from her upper arm, further around to the place just below her collarbone, just above her breast. This movement pulled Ada closer still, her face turning so that her cheek rested against Hecate’s shoulder, her legs molding to the outline of Hecate’s. The younger woman's hand was moving, fingers slipping between Ada’s, braiding them together into something unbreakable. After a single, hard squeeze, Hecate’s fingers disengaged, her hand lightly moving over Ada’s, protecting it between the warmth of her palm and the solid reassurance of her body.

Once the blood and shock in Ada’s head stopped humming, she felt it: the soft, steady beat of Hecate’s heart, against the palm of her hand. She felt it slow in pace, creating rhythm with the deep, long breaths that pushed and pulled beneath her cheek. She closed her eyes, happily serenaded by the duet of sinew and blood and air. The lungs, to tell Ada that her Hecate was truly, irrefutably alive, and the heart, to tell her that Hecate was truly, irrefutably hers.


	7. Chapter 7

When Dimity and Pippa had returned, they found Ada and Hecate curled up, fast asleep—wordlessly, Pippa magicked another tent, and with a wink in Dimity’s direction, she headed in to go to sleep. Dimity followed soon after her, wearing a similar sweet grin of her own as she gave a small nod of her head, magically pulling the covers fully over the two sleeping forms. It seemed safe to say that whatever the discussion had been between HB and Ada, it had been more productive than the last.

Hecate slept peacefully through the night, dreamless and cocooned in a feeling of safety. At one point, she awoke to find Ada’s arm still around her waist, Ada’s head still resting against her shoulder blade. She turned, rolling over delicately so that she was now facing Ada, eyes straining to see the outlines of that familiar face in the darkness. Ada had fallen asleep wearing her glasses, and Hecate smiled gently at the adorableness of such a quirk. She wondered if this was a common occurrence, and the thought that she was moving into a world where she might fully know that answer sent a burst of warmth through her chest. She quietly magicked the glasses away, her mouth beginning to twinge from how deeply she was smiling.

Even in her sleep, Ada wore a worried expression. Hecate kissed the lines of her furrowed brow, softly at first, then twice more, deeper and with more intention. _Sleep peacefully, my dearest, dream of good things._

Ada ducked her head in response, burrowing into Hecate’s neck, still completely asleep. The younger woman sighed softly, wrapping her arm around Ada and happily slipping back into sleep herself.

And that’s how Ada awoke, the next morning: to the weight Hecate’s embrace, to the steady beat of Hecate’s jugular against her temple, to the warmth of Hecate’s body and the easy rise and fall of her chest.

Hecate was already awake, Ada could tell by her breathing. Waiting for Ada to wake up, too kind to disturb her slumber by moving. Ada felt a burble of adoration in her chest of this woman and her thoughtful concernities, for all the little kindnesses that she gave, all the ways she constantly shielded Ada.

Ada pulled away slightly, moving so that she was face to face with Hecate, looking directly into those dark eyes that still held shadows and doubts from the day before.

“Good morning,” she said simply, unsure of how to start.

“Good morning,” Hecate returned. With a slight smirk, she added, “Barely.”

Ada glanced around. A soft blue light filtered through the tent, implying that the sun hadn’t dawned quite yet. Not surprising—with their positions and respective duties, she and Hecate usually found themselves rising before the dawn almost every day.

“I meant what I said, last night,” Ada pushed forward, face shining with earnestness. “I know that I made so many wrong choices, that I let my worst self win, and I would do anything—”

“I know,” Hecate interrupted gently, the corners of her eyes softening with compassion. Her hand lightly squeezed Ada’s arm. “And after everything you said, everything you told me about the Wailing Wishmaker—I understand, Ada.”

The way she said Ada’s name, so soft and sweet and melting with empathy, was overwhelming. Ada had to close her eyes to stop the tears. Hecate smiled at the small action, her heart warming further. She'd been awake for some time now, her mind turning over everything she needed to say, mentally writing and rewriting a script to present to Ada. She'd been so anxious for Ada to awaken, so that she could finally present her with this, this strange gift of honesty and vulnerability, this token to prove that she could truly build a relationship with Ada. And now that those beautiful blue eyes were finally open, Hecate wanted nothing more than to fill them with love and safety.

“I’ve been there, Ada. I’ve had moments where I thought—I thought I’d never see you again, or that life would be otherwise irrevocably changed, in the worst of ways,” Hecate began the speech she'd rehearsed half a dozen times now. Her hand stayed on Ada’s arm, her thumb rubbing back and forth, as if silently reminding herself that those fears were unfounded, that Ada was still truly here, still truly safe. “So I understand that fear. And the fear of…not being enough. I’m still not sure that I’m the person you see me as—I just can’t quite believe I’m capable of earning such…praise. But I know I’d _like_ to be that person, and I try to be that person, most of the time. And maybe…maybe that’s what matters.”

Her expressive eyebrows were quirking upwards in hopeful questioning, silently asking _is that what matters, is that enough for you, my love?_

Ada felt the smile spreading across her face, heart overflowing with love all over again. She gave a small nod of agreement. “Maybe it is.”

Hecate’s face filled with relief. Then, she frowned slightly, adding, “Then, just, maybe…maybe next time you could just tell me all those things when you’re actually thinking them? I would have understood then, too.”

It was a bit hypocritical, asking Ada to just talk about her feelings, when she herself was still learning to do the same, but Ada was always braver, always better at this than she was. And she _was_ trying, she could continue to better herself, to hold herself to the same standards that she asked of Ada.

Ada frowned, “But it would be manipulative on my part, to bring up those fears just because I know they’ll make you change your mind.”

Now Hecate was fully smirking, “Then you’d best learn to be better at arguing your point, I suppose.”

Ada couldn’t help but grin, too. Hecate’s expression slowly muted into seriousness. Her grip tightened on Ada’s arm—not painful, but enough to convey her earnestness.

“Ada, I do understand. But I have to know—I have to hear you say that it will never happen again. I couldn’t—I can’t live my life, wondering if any time I disagree with you about something big, something important, you’re just going to…to make a decision for me, like that.” Hecate’s eyes were wide, taking in every nuance of Ada’s reaction, begging for an answer, begging for reassurance.

“I promise,” Ada breathed, meaning it with every fiber of her being. “I may fight you tooth and nail on a decision, but I won’t ever take away your right to fight me. Oh, Hecate, I promise, I’ll never—”

“I know,” Hecate couldn’t bear another round of self-flagellation. “I just needed to hear you say it.”

She took a full beat to simply look into Ada’s eyes, hoping her seriousness would not come across as a threat as she added, “But, Ada…you said—what you did that night, you called it your worst self. If I—if this new thing between us brings out your worst self, then I will not stay. I don’t mean to frighten you further, or to…manipulate you in any way, but I will not be responsible for destroying the most wonderful human being I have ever met. You will always have my heart, without a doubt, but I will leave it behind, if it means saving you.”

Ada’s throat tightened at those words—both Hecate’s compliment to her character and her utter adamance in her stance. Ada knew she would do it, even if it killed her. Because as much as Hecate Hardbroom loved her, the woman would deny herself if it was in Ada’s best interest. A martyr til the end, a white knight for love.

 _You will always have my heart, without a doubt_. Hecate had said it so easily, so casually, but Ada’s heart had raced at the confession. Was she still dreaming? Would she wake at any moment?

Hecate was still watching her with cautious eyes, waiting for her response. Ada saw the worry, the fear—as usual, Hecate was blaming herself for everything. She felt a pang of guilt and a heavy measure of hatred for all the people who’d come before, all the ones who’d taught Hecate to blame herself first.

“My actions were due to my own fear and selfishness, not because of you, Hecate.” Ada assured her. “You have only ever brought out my best self, in all things.”

The younger woman smiled in soft wonderment, as if she couldn’t possibly believe that last statement, but she didn’t refute it. Instead, she kissed Ada’s forehead, quickly and easily, as if she’d done it a thousand times. “It’s done. I forgive you. And I promise to be better at listening, and at letting you have the chance to argue with me.”

The last bit was a slight joke, and Ada gave a wry smile in response. Hecate pulled back slowly, dark eyes searching Ada’s face again. Her hand came up to Ada’s neck, resting there tentatively, watching Ada’s reaction for some kind of confirmation.

Ada recognized that look. It was the same look Hecate had given her two nights ago, as they sat in the hallway, just after Hecate had healed her ankle—the look Hecate had given her when she’d confessed to being completely consumed with the thought of kissing her.

Hecate was moving slowly, giving Ada the chance to stop, to speak, but the blonde wasn’t doing either. She let her hand fully rest against Ada’s neck, fingers threading through the ends of her blonde bob, palm aching at the softness that greeted it. She moved forward, still trying to take in Ada’s reaction, trying to make sure she wasn’t being too forward, moving too quickly.

Ada ducked her head slightly, retreating from Hecate’s advance. The younger witch stopped, eyebrows quirking in a mixture of concern and chagrin.

“Sorry,” Ada blushed. “I just—I'm afraid.”

Hecate’s expression filled with confusion, muscles tensing at the confession.

Ada kept her eyes trained on Hecate’s throat, trying to sort out her thoughts. “Whatever happens today, it will start, truly start, with you walking into some kind of battle. And…and I’m afraid that if I kiss you now, before—you'll feel completed. You won’t have anything to come back for.”

Now Hecate’s mouth was twisting in a wry smirk, her entire body relaxing again as the tension melted away. Her thumb stroked the line of Ada’s jaw, loving and light. “Ada Cackle, if you think that I would consider a single kiss as the ultimate destination of our current path, then you are _greatly_ mistaken.”

The heat flooding Ada's cheeks matched the flush in Hecate’s own, and they stayed there for a moment, shining eyes and shy, ecstatic smiles. _We have a secret, just us two_. _We've agreed on where this is going, we know what's ahead._

Having laid to rest her only fear, Ada reached for Hecate. Her hand cupped the face she adored so wholeheartedly, slipping to the back of her neck, fingertips relishing the soft, smooth skin beneath them.

The feeling of Ada’s warmth on the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck made Hecate’s brain short circuit completely. She was lost, lost in a world that consisted solely of Ada’s touch and Ada's eyes. Her mouth went dry, left with nothing but a desire to fill itself with as much of Ada as possible. And now Ada was moving closer, bringing her mouth to Hecate’s with such sweet tenderness that she had to swallow the whimper echoing in her chest. She tightened her own grip on Ada’s neck, pulling her whole body closer, trying to anchor herself to as much of Ada as possible. The simple act of their two fully-clothed bodies colliding shot sparks through her hips and she tried to muffle the sharp intake of breath, tried not to show how easily such a relatively innocent touch rattled her to the very core.

Ada had experienced many first kisses in her life. Most were fireworks and flipping tummies, sparks and shaking ground (and a few—very few, thankfully—were of little relish and best described as _meh_ ). But never had there been a first kiss like this.

There were no sparks, no shooting stars. Just deep surety, an anchor sliding down into her bones, a self-satisfied sigh of _yes, finally_. A feeling of home, of familiarity despite the novelty, of a puzzle piece clicking into place. This was the sense of completion she’d feared inspiring in Hecate, and yet, now that she was experiencing it herself, she understood that the rightness of this feeling didn’t stop the desire for more. She felt the small gasps that Hecate tried to hide, and her heart raced in response.

She was a witch, so she’d weave this spell. Use her lips and her hands to work her magic, to bind this woman to her heart, to keep her safe, to bring her back, to shield her from all harm. This was a kiss of promise, a kiss of longing, a kiss of comforting and binding. She kissed the corners she loved so much, the ones so often given to smirking or frowning, came back to center for more gentle, open-mouthed kisses, fighting the urge to plunge her tongue past those teeth, to explore more of Hecate.

Hecate kept herself from pushing for more, focused solely on reassuring Ada that she was still here, that she was coming back, that there was no reason to fear. She let her hand continue stroking the side of Ada’s face, a rhythmic pace meant to comfort. Ada was still holding back, she could feel it, and she did the same, knowing that certain boxes simply couldn’t be opened until later ( _later, later, later, oh was there a more wonderful and promising word in all the world?_ ). She mimicked Ada’s movements, kissing the corner of her mouth, the tip of the adorable nose she loved so well, the fluttering eyelids, the smooth space between Ada’s eyebrows. She finally pulled back, taking a deep, shaking breath as she closed her eyes and rested her forehead against Ada’s, savoring this warmth, this quiet joy.

 _I kissed her. Really kissed her_. That simple truth was still a shock, a source of absolute wonder and bliss. And Ada had kissed her back! At this point, she really shouldn’t be quite so surprised at the outcome, but after so many years of thinking this day could never possibly be, Hecate still had moments where she was convinced it was somehow all a dream, a huge misunderstanding, too good to be true, too wonderful to last.

But it was real, and it would last—the second part sank into her gut with knowing certainty. Ada’s hand was on her shoulder now, grounding her in her own body, reminding her that she was still here, still with Ada, still in reality.

“So,” Hecate ducked her head slightly, almost shy in her attempt to be coy. “What part of that kiss was supposed to make me feel so complete that I never wanted to come back for more?”

Ada gave a low chuckle at the cheeky remark, knowing that Hecate’s bravado was meant to ease her fear over the day. She also knew that Hecate was just as anxious as she was, and would need just as much distraction as she did, so she teased in return, “I must not have done it right. May I try again?”

Hecate was beaming now, blushing as she leaned in. She hummed in approval as their mouths met, a simple sound that reverberated all the way to Ada’s toes.

“Ladies, I think you’re gonna wanna see this!” Dimity Drill’s voice rang out from the other side of the campsite.

Both women bolted up like two teenagers caught skipping class, a wild flurry of limbs and blankets. After a beat, they calmed slightly, giving each other sheepish glances and smiling at their own reactions. Hecate's eyes widened, as if she suddenly remembered something, and she held out her palm, where Ada's glasses magically appeared. Ada dipped her head, smiling at the simple intimacy of the moment as she took her glasses and slipped them onto her face again.

She rose to her feet, offering a hand to help Hecate climb out of the precarious camp bed, and they quickly righted their clothing and their hair, stepping out to see what demanded their attention.

It wasn’t just before dawn, as Hecate had assumed. In fact, there wasn’t any light in the sky all. The faint glow was coming from the trees, covered in some kind of lichen.

They were glowing blue.

“Well,” Pippa Pentangle emerged from the second tent with a breathless look of wonder. “I guess we found our blue trees.”

“A safe assumption to make, I’d say,” Hecate drawled, arching a brow. Still, her eyes were fixed on the trees, in awe of the sight. Once again, she had the sensation of being in an entirely different world.

“So next we have…a red oak,” Pippa had the casket in her hands again, squinting slightly to make out the runes in the low light. "We turn left at the red oak.”

“Let’s eat before we start traipsing around the woods,” Dimity suggested. A flick of her wrist sent the fire roaring back to life. She gave a nod to Hecate, “And HB, you need to go incognito again.”

“After breakfast,” Ada suggested. She gave a small smile to Hecate, “Wait in the tent, I’ll bring some in to you.”

Hecate merely nodded, turning to go back inside. Ada didn’t miss the shared glance between Dimity and Miss Pentangle. She found that she didn’t give a damn. She still had the taste of Hecate’s lips on her own, still had the scent of Hecate’s perfume in her hair. Let the world think what it wanted, because it was all absolutely true. _Yes, I woke up in Hecate Hardbroom’s arms, yes, it was just as wonderful as I’d always imagined. Yes, we’re in love and nothing can break that._

Now if only they could make it through the day. If only they could wake up, exactly the same way tomorrow morning, and every morning after.

* * *

 

Something was happening upstairs. Circe could hear footsteps, the occasional scuff of a piece of furniture moving across the floor. She squinted, wincing at the stab of pain in her jaw. The single cup of water hadn’t helped much—her muscles were cramping from dehydration, and her thoughts seemed to take longer, her brain fuzzier.

But other witches were here. And things were happening. That must mean Heck was close, on her way, coming to rescue her.

She wasn’t sure how long she simply stared up at the ceiling, dazed and drowsy. Eventually the darkness in the room slowly shifted into shadows, outlines taking shape as light filtered in through the high window.

Carefully, she turned her face towards the window, greeting the dawn as best she could (it wasn’t much, just a mere nod to the world outside the window and a small prayer of gratitude for surviving the night). It took a moment for her eyes to focus, to notice the new little addition at the edge of the pane.

A newly sprouted plant. Leaves of green, petals of blue. Her own magic at work, growing out into the world to find her sister, to bring about her own salvation.

She closed her eyes and smiled, the action causing tears from the pain in her jaw.

 _Hope_. There was hope.

* * *

 

By the time Ada brought breakfast into the tent, Hecate had magicked two chairs and a small table. She was seated, hands clenched into fists in her lap, like a woman awaiting her own execution. Ada offered a reassuring smile, not sure that it actually fulfilled its duty.

“I don’t think I can actually eat,” Hecate’s hand lightly fluttered to her stomach. She’d barely eaten yesterday, only under extreme duress from Dimity, who’d been insistent that she at least take one of those wretched sports bar things. Now she’d gone too long without food and she felt nauseous and weak-limbed, her body wanting to reject the very thing it needed. The heavy scent of eggs fried in bacon fat did little to help, only making her stomach churn like she’d spent a night regretfully knocking back shots of witches’ brew.

“You must try,” Ada let a hint of the headmistress tone seep in. It seemed to work, because her deputy gave a dutiful sigh as the plate was set before her. Ada took a seat, her voice tinged with worry as she asked, “Did you get any rest last night?”

Hecate ducked her head, smiling at the question. “Yes. Having you there certainly helped.”

Ada felt a measure of pride, as if she’d actually done something—being a help in this moment, in any capacity, was her greatest wish, and if simply being next to Hecate was what helped, then she’d never leave.

Then Hecate’s face contorted into something more fearful, more hesitant. Her voice was impossibly small as she asked, “Do you…do you really think they won’t try to do anything until they have both of us?”

It took a moment for Ada’s brain to catch up. Hecate was referring to Ada’s earlier supposition that Circe would be relatively safe, because Agatha’s coven would need to harness the power of both witches to break the spell that bound her.

“If they’re smart, they won’t,” Ada tried to be as honest as possible, while still remaining hopeful. She took a sip of Dimity's campfire tea. “And Asteria Allbright seems to be, by all accounts, a very intelligent witch.”

Hecate gave a wry hum. “Why can’t we ever go up against absolute imbeciles every now and again? Would be a nice change of pace.”

Ada chuckled softly at her deputy's dark humor. She felt a measure of satisfaction as Hecate drank her tea, tried to take a bite of fried egg—her eyes closed softly and Ada knew she was fighting back nausea from nerves.

Dimity’s culinary endeavors had been sweet, and thoughtful. But they weren’t much good for Hecate, Ada realized. With a wave of her hand, she magicked simple bread. Hecate gave a small, light sigh in response.

“I should’ve thought of that,” she admitted in a low tone, slightly sheepish.

“We won’t tell Dimity, though,” Ada gave a conspiratorial wink, and Hecate smiled in return. Ada bit back the urge to ask if she needed a calming spell, or at least something to help her stomach—she knew Hecate would refuse it, adamant as always against personal comfort. Oh, how she loved this strange little martyr.

Those words stayed behind her teeth, too. They were true, and the little bubble of this quiet morning was lovely, but she’d meant what she’d said, earlier—Hecate would put herself at a grave risk today, and Ada wanted her to have something to fight for, a reason to hang on, to return, to win.

Of course, Hecate would do everything in her power to rescue her sister and ensure the rest of the traveling party was safely returned to Cackle’s. But the woman probably wouldn’t even blink before sacrificing herself if necessary. It was the most noble and terrifying thing about Hecate Hardbroom.

But Ada knew Hecate well—better than most, she could dare to say. So she used this knowledge to her advantage, “Hecate—”

The younger woman looked up, her dark curious eyes stopping Ada with a single glance. It took her a moment to recover, to continue, “Earlier, you asked me to tell you, whenever I’m worried or…fearful.”

“Yes,” Hecate was cautious, eyes never leaving Ada’s.

“Well, I need you to make me a promise.”

Hecate’s hands went to her lap. Eager to obey, hesitant to hear the command.

“You must absolutely promise me that whatever happens today, you will live.”

Now Hecate’s hesitation melted completely. She moved to Ada, slipping to her knees to kneel before her, a knight pleading fealty. “Ada, it’ll be alright. I won’t—”

“I won’t be there to protect you,” Ada reminded her. “So I need to hear it from your lips—I need to hear you promise to actually have a care for your own self, for once.”

Ada hadn’t thought it was possible for Hecate’s expression to soften any further, but she was wrong. With a small smile, Hecate bowed her head, scooping Ada’s hands into her own and placing the tiniest of kisses on each one. “I promise, Ada. I will protect myself as fiercely as I would protect you.”

There was a promise, Ada thought. She squeezed Hecate’s hands, which were still holding her own. Hecate was still kneeling before her, head slightly bent, and Ada tried not to think of the same imagine in a different setting.

A rather hard task, as Hecate was returning her attention to Ada’s right hand—lightly kissing between each knuckle, slowly turning the hand to place open-mouthed kissed across the heartlines of Ada’s palm, lips traveling up to Ada’s wrist. She stopped there, closing her eyes and simply absorbing Ada’s warmth and her strength.

Hecate trembled, clenching her jaw against the sudden onslaught of her own emotions. When she’d promised to protect herself as fiercely as she would protect Ada, she’d ached to explain why— _because I am yours now, I no longer belong to myself, you have claimed me and I do not wish it any other way_ —but the words strangled and died in her throat, too fragile for the light of day. It was ridiculous, how fearful she still was ( _it’s Ada, she’s safe, if she’s still here, after all this time, after all she has seen of you, there really isn’t much else you could do to drive her away_ ), but the fear was real, regardless of its irrationality.

Ada deserved better, but she’d chosen her. Therefore Hecate would mold herself into what Ada did deserve, as painstaking as it may be. Those words might be too difficult, but she could find others. Goodness, isn’t that what she’d done for years now—hiding her true affections behind smaller words, more practical concerns?

“I am so grateful you’re here,” she breathed.

“Me too,” Ada agreed quietly. She resisted the urge to disengage her left hand and stroke the top of Hecate’s head, to lull her into another restful sleep, to shield her just a little while longer. Dawn had come while Dimity was making breakfast; they needed to move soon.

 _There will be time for that later_ , she told herself, feeling much like her younger self, when she used to promise herself some kind of reward for studying or finishing a term paper.

It was a promise, and a prayer.

* * *

 

Hecate made a point to thank Dimity for breakfast, finding herself unable to admit to barely eating any (it was the effort that counted, she reminded herself gently, and Dimity’s good intentions should be rewarded). Then she disappeared under her own invisibility spell as Pippa made quick work of their campsite, magicking everything away again.

Even though she couldn’t see Hecate, Ada could feel her nearness, could hear the soft shuffle of her steps on the pine needles as she matched Ada’s pace—a familiar action, repeated countless times through hallways and garden paths and holiday parties, comforting and endearing in a way that Ada had not noticed before. Miss Pentangle and Dimity led the way, consulting the rune-riddled message casket before continuing forward.

Surprisingly, a beautiful white oak with blood red leaves appeared not too long into their journey. The three visible witches exchanged uneasy glances, wondering if they could truly be this lucky—the blue trees had taken several hours of walking to reach, would all the path markers suddenly be so close together?

They took the footpath to the left of the tree, and soon their fears were allayed as the next marker came into view.

“They’re much closer together,” Hecate’s disembodied voice remarked quietly, low enough so only Ada could hear. “We can’t be too far, now.”

Ada merely hummed in agreement, fear stopping her voice from anything more concrete. Hecate had laid out a rather brilliant plan before they’d started their journey yesterday afternoon, and Ada truly did trust her—but there were so many factors at play, so many chances for even a brilliant plan to go wrong.

Hecate must have read the worry in Ada’s expression, because Ada felt a gentle tug on the edge of her traveling cloak. She slowed her pace, turning to slightly in the direction she assumed Hecate was. She saw her own cloak ripple, felt the light brush of Hecate’s fingers at her elbow, squeezing tighter with reassurance.

“It’s alright, Ada,” Hecate’s voice was tender, lined with concern and love. Ada could easily imagine Hecate’s expression in this moment—it was one she’d seen a hundred times, one she’d convinced herself was merely the expression of a concerned friend, a friend who loved her dearly but only in the most platonic of ways.

Half of that was gloriously false, but the other half was still deeply true. Hecate was still her friend, even if their friendship was now something more ( _something more,_ how she hated the idea, as if Hecate had not been enough as simply her friend, as if their relationship before had not brought so much joy and companionship and support into her life). She was her closest friend, her dearest friend—and now, when Hecate needed her most, Ada wouldn’t be there.

She opened her mouth to reply, but it was Dimity’s voice that spoke. “Alright. It looks like we might be getting pretty close. You two stay here, and Pippa and I will scout ahead.”

Hecate’s hand dropped away as Ada turned to the other two witches. Miss Pentangle moved towards her, face lined with seriousness as she handed Ada a piece of parchment. “Just in case.”

She didn’t specify what—she didn’t need to. _Just in case we don’t return._

Ada glanced down at the parchment, seeing Miss Pentangle’s loopy handwriting. She’d translated the runes, leaving some kind of directions for them to follow. Ada looked back up, and Miss Pentangle offered a tight smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Better safe than sorry,” Pippa tried to keep her tone light and playful, but anxiety already had its teeth deep in her gut, gnawing and ripping with fearful insistency. Last night, as they’d circled the camp and put up spells, and even later, as they'd lain in their tent, she and Dimity had discussed every possible outcome for this scenario. One theory, which they’d both agreed was almost a complete certainty, was that Asteria Allbright would have some kind of traps in place—some way to take out a few members of the traveling party, to lessen the odds in their favor. Dimity had rather stoically pointed out that they were extraneous, as far as Agatha’s coven was concerned. The coven only needed Ada, as they thought they already had Hecate. As potential witnesses and combatants, Pippa and Dimity were better off dead, in the coven’s eyes.

Initially, Pippa had balked at such an assessment. But Dimity Drill had been calm as she’d recited Agatha’s crimes and her ability to bend witches to her will. She didn’t seem the type to exaggerate or devolve into hysterics, so Pippa couldn’t help but believe her.

 _Prepare for the worst, hope for the best_ , Dimity had said, apparently attempting to reassure Pippa as they’d settled in to sleep. A practical outlook, but one that still made her queasy with anxiety.

“Wait,” Hecate lifted her invisibility spell. She pushed aside the folds of her traveling cloak, pulling out a small vial of potion from the pouch at her waist. “Perhaps you should be less…conspicuous.”

 Pippa read the vial—a transformative potion, to turn them into sparrows. She smiled. Of course, Hiccup had prepared for everything.

“Excellent idea.” The thought of being a little harder to detect took Pippa’s anxiety down a notch. She glanced over at Dimity and saw similar relief.

“Thanks, HB,” Dimity took the vial, emptying half of it in a single shot before handing it over to Pippa, who finished it off.

Pippa felt her bones begin to quiver as the transformation took hold. Soon the world was expanding, Hecate’s tall form even more imposing as Pippa shrank to a fraction of her former size.

Hecate stooped down, easily cupping a witch-turned-sparrow into each hand.

“Thank you,” she took a moment to look them each in the eye. Then, with a wry smirk, she proclaimed, “Now, fly, my pretties.”

She lightly launched them into the air, the added push from her toss giving them enough time to gain control of their wings as they twittered forward.

Dimity rolled her eyes at HB's last words. _What a fucking dork_.

* * *

 

Ada glanced over at Hecate, who was still visible. In a voice lined with quiet regret, she said, “You should go back under an invisibility spell, my dear.”

Hecate glanced up, her dark eyes shimmering with some unreadable emotion. “I am. I just—you can still see me.”

Ada was confused for a moment, then she realized that Hecate had chosen a selective invisibility spell. She thought of the ones she knew, wondered which phrase Hecate had uttered—given the blush in Hecate’s cheeks, it had to be one imbued with a romantic connotation. _Let my lover’s eyes take upon my disguise_ , or perhaps _let me be seen by those who doth truly see me_.

“I thought it would be slightly less creepy,” Hecate admitted, easily slipping into a wryer tone. “Although if anyone else were to pass by, they’d still see you talking to yourself like an absolute madwoman.”

Ada smiled at the attempted levity. She watched as Hecate returned to seriousness, walking in slow, measured steps before turning on her heel and walking back. Her expressive fingers were tapping and flexing, twittering as they often did when she was consumed with anxiety.

“You never were good at waiting,” Ada pointed out gently, feeling the warm smile spread across her face as she considered how many times she’d seen that woman perform this exact same exercise in impatience.

Hecate kept her head ducked, eyes focused on the ground as she quietly countered, “I waited an awfully long time for you.”

Ada was surprised at how casually the confession came, her curiosity piqued at the declaration. “How long?”

Her deputy stopped her pacing for a moment, frowning slightly as she tried to truly answer the question.

“I don’t know, really.” After a beat, Hecate resumed her pacing, her hands moving to her timepiece as she continued, “I know there was a _before_ , a time when I didn’t feel this way—but…it’s hard to fathom it now.”

A silent trill of delight reverberated in Ada’s chest. Because she understood the sentiment—oh, yes, in the early days, when they’d fought like cats and dogs, Ada was certain that her feelings for Miss Hardbroom hadn’t even been friendly, much less romantic. But looking back was like looking at an old photograph, taken with a filmy lens. The memory was there, but try as she might, she couldn’t invoke the old emotions attached to the situation. It was all tainted by love now, forever altered into something softer.

“And you?” Hecate’s voice was impossibly gentle, almost fearful. “How long have you…had you…”

She gave a helpless flutter of her hands, still unable to say the words, the words that still seemed to wonderful to be true, the words that might accidentally break this spell by being voiced aloud.

“I’m not exactly sure,” Ada admitted. With a smile, she added, “But I do know the moment I actually realized it.”

Hecate looked up, curious and hesitant.

Ada continued, “It was one evening, in the staff lounge. Miss Moonbower was still with us then.”

Hecate blushed immediately, and Ada’s long-held suspicions were confirmed—she’d had a crush on the former chanting mistress, a pretty little thing with riotous red curls and a fiery temper to match.

“You two were playing chess. It had been an epic game—going on three days, at that point, I think. And you finally won.” Ada was grinning like a fool at the memory, shaking her head slightly at her own silly reaction. “You just…you sat back in your seat with such a smug look on your face, and your eyes—in that moment, I realized that you’d seen that entire game as some big… _flirt_ , and—you were just the most adorable thing I’d ever seen. I remember thinking that. _She’s absolutely adorable_ , I thought, and it shocked me, at first. To realize I saw you that way. To realize that even when you were being insufferably smug, you made me…happy. Happy to be around you, happy to see you, just…happy.”

Now Hecate was standing stock-still, eyes wide, hands clasped together as her brows quirked together in complete confusion. “Ada…you’re saying that in a moment where I was being an absolute asshole, _that’s_ when you realized you cared?”

Ada laughed, at Hecate’s befuddlement, at her own ridiculousness, at how absurd it all was. “Well, I wouldn’t have ever put it that way—you were _happy_ , Hecate. Happy and adorable. Your smirk, it—well, let’s just say that was the first time I imagined it out of context, but certainly not the last.”

Hecate blushed again, biting her lip at the confession. Ada pushed down the urge to warn the woman against doing that again—at least not here, not when she couldn’t do anything about it.

“And…do I,” Hecate looked down at the ground, still hesitant. “Do I still make you feel…happy?”

“Most of the time, yes,” Ada admitted. Seeing Hecate’s flinch at the qualifier, she added, “And not a single day goes by that I’m not deeply, _deeply_ grateful for your presence in my life.”

Those dark eyes flicked back up to meet Ada’s, shining with quiet joy. Ada immediately filled with a desire to remind Hecate of her promise, to remind her that she absolutely must survive whatever happened today, that she must return to her, return to them and this new thing building between them, this fascinating world of tender looks and surprising confessions and old-memories-made-new-by-revelation.  

A small fluttering sound drew their attention, and two sparrows circled over Ada. Briefly, she wondered if they could see Hecate. With a quick flourish, Hecate returned them back to human form.

Pippa reeled slightly at the transformation’s speed, the world around her zooming back out to a more manageable size and giving her a slight sensation of motion sickness. Dimity seemed unfazed, immediately launching in to a report.

“There’s an old cabin just a quarter mile away,” Dimity nodded in the general direction. “Small clearing around it, which makes it impossible to sneak up. We looked in the windows and counted three witches.”

She glanced over at Pippa, who nodded in confirmation. They hadn’t been able to communicate in bird form, so Dimity had simply assumed that Pippa hadn’t seen any other witches.

“And Circe?” Hecate asked, every syllable heavy with dread.

“Dunno,” Dimity admitted breathlessly. “My guess is that they’re keeping her somewhere safe. I think that we should triangulate—Pippa and I take opposite sides while you go in on point, to make the trade.”

Ada nodded in agreement. She could tell the moment that Hecate lifted her invisibility spell, because Pippa launched herself at her childhood friend, giving her fierce hug again.

“Dimity and I will get into position,” she kept her voice low, as if she feared being overheard by the trees. “Give us a few minutes before you go in—and for goddess’ sake, do be careful, Hiccup.”

“You too, Pipsqueak,” Hecate gave her shoulder a slight squeeze. Then with a glance towards Dimity, she said, “Try not to mess this up, Drill.”

“If I can keep you from tripping over your own shoelaces, I’ll consider it a win,” Dimity drawled, giving a curt nod of her head. HB’s mouth twitched into a satisfied smirk, which Dimity returned with a smile of her own.

Pippa quickly pressed the message casket into Hecate’s hands. Then she and Dimity quietly made their way through the woods again, disappearing under invisibility spells as they moved closer to their intended destinations.

The moment they disappeared, Hecate’s entire body contracted with fear and anxiety. Ada moved closer to her, knowing the time to say their own goodbyes had come and dreading every second of it.

“Are you ready?” She quietly asked, fully aware that Hecate would never be ready.

Hecate merely took Ada’s hands into her own, squeezing them tightly. Her stomach clenched and a tremor ran up her throat, rattling her teeth. Anxiety was amplified by the adrenaline that dumped itself into her bloodstream, making her head swim with the sudden rush.

Ada took Hecate’s movements as a sign of assent, so she bent her head downwards, closing her eyes as she quietly intoned, “I, Ada Cackle, freely give my powers to you, to use and bestow as you see fit.”

Ada’s magic crackled through Hecate’s veins like wildfire, fizzing against her bones and flushing every inch of skin. She stumbled forward, thankful for Ada’s arms, which caught her and helped her stay on her feet. Ada held her gently, aware of how sensitive her entire body would be as two sets of magic swirled and tried to settle within a single frame. Hecate was trembling, her breath shallow and shaking as she screwed her eyes shut, willing the overwhelming sensations to marshal themselves into something more bearable.

“I’ve got you,” Ada’s voice, soft and reassuring, was a lifeline. Hecate followed it back to the waking world, taking deeper breaths, forcing her body to slow its paces, willing her own magic to calm itself, to pull back and allow Ada’s magic to join.

After a few beats, she opened her eyes, slowly retreating from Ada’s arms to stand on her own two feet. The adrenaline built and eddied around her heightened powers, making her almost giddy with a new sensation of invincibility.

However, one glance at Ada brought her concern rushing back. Ada looked so much smaller now, somehow less vivid without her magic. So tiny, had she always been so frail, so timid looking?

Hecate placed her hands on Ada’s shoulders, slightly afraid that she might somehow break the woman with the simple act.

“Stay here,” Hecate commanded, her voice a gentle whisper. “I need you to be safe, Ada Cackle.”

Ada merely nodded. With a wobbly, sweetly brave smile, she informed the younger woman, “I’ll be counting the minutes til you return.”

Hecate smiled too. Then she dipped her head slightly, taking off her timepiece and gently bestowing it on Ada’s neck. “There. To help you count.”

She didn’t curb the impulse to take the timepiece in her hand one last time, placing a single, solid kiss on the smooth back.  _Keep her safe, please, keep her safe for me._

She looked back into those breathtakingly blue eyes, into that light which had guided her through so many life storms, that light whose extinction would be the end of her own universe. Her throat tightened, teeth aching with all the things they held back, all the things that still needed to be said, all the words she’d never dared to utter, the words Ada needed to hear. _Say the most important thing._ With a deep sigh, she forced herself to speak.

“Ada, I lo—”

“I know,” Ada took both of Hecate’s hands in hers, stopping those fateful little words from continuing. “I know, but I can’t hear you say it right now. It makes it all seem too…final.”

Hecate gave a small nod of agreement and understanding. Her grip tightened around Ada’s hands, thumbs stroking the outline of Ada’s fingers. “Just know that when I do get back, I will say it.”

She looked back up to see Ada beaming. “You’d damn well better, Hecate Hardbroom.”

Hecate was smiling, too, and that was what Ada had wanted—for Hecate to leave in a better state, to have some measure of love in her heart, some reminder of her true self before she waded into whatever darkness awaited her. Ada took Hecate’s wrists, pulling her down into a quick, solid kiss.

Hecate pulled back slightly, nuzzling her nose against Ada’s, resting their foreheads against each other. “I will come back, Ada. I promise.”

“I know,” Ada said simply.

Hecate pulled further away, turning to head into another thicket of trees. Ada couldn’t help but add one last thing, “And Hecate?”

The younger woman turned back to her, face skewed in light confusion.

“That thing you’re going to say later? Just so you know, I do, too.”

Now Hecate’s beam was a bright as the sun.

“I know,” her mouth quirked into a one-sided smirk, sharp and certain. “You said so, last night.”

“Did I?” Ada felt a ripple of surprise. Her mind began replaying the night before, trying to find the moment she’d apparently forgotten.

Hecate gave a curt nod, eyes dancing. “When you were apologizing. It slipped out—I didn’t think you even realized you’d said it, and now I know you didn’t.”

 _Loving you as deeply as I do_. Ada suddenly remembered uttering these words. Hecate was still watching her, still glowing in bemused adoration.

“That makes it truer, I think,” Hecate’s voice was so quiet, yet it traveled easily across the distance.

“I think so, too,” Ada smiled softly.

The younger woman’s smirk was gone, her face all open softness. With a twitch of her fingers, she sent a small luna moth floating towards Ada, fluttering in small circles until it alighted on her shoulder. Ada smiled down at the little apparition, the little reminder of such a sweet part of their story.

She looked back to Hecate, but she was already gone.


	8. Chapter 8

Hecate made sure she was a good distance from Ada before transforming herself into the woman’s likeness—obviously, showing up as herself would immediately alert Asteria Allbright to the fact that she’d taken the wrong Hardbroom. The entire plan hinged upon the coven believing that Circe was Hecate and that Hecate was Ada. In that moment, Hecate felt another stab of anxiety as she realized, yet again, just how flimsy this plan was.

_Doesn’t have to be perfect, just has to be effective long enough to get the job done._ Dimity had said that, when Hecate had first revealed her idea yesterday afternoon. Normally Hecate would sneer at such a slap-dash attitude, but right now, she was grateful for the measure of reassurance.

She would do anything to get Circe back. But she was also putting Pippa and Dimity directly in the line of action as well—and to top it off, she’d left Ada alone in the woods, completely defenseless without her powers.

When Hecate had set out alone, her idea had been simply to impersonate Ada, in order to get closer and stage some kind of rescue. But when she’d presented her plan yesterday, Ada had added another element—Hecate should take her powers, to use as a trap. Because if Asteria Allbright was smart, she’d ask for Ada to give up her powers almost immediately, to ensure the woman couldn’t retaliate. Hecate had to agree—that’s what she would do, if the situation were reversed.

Still, the idea of abandoning Ada didn’t sit well with her. She’d already made Dimity swear that if things looked dour, she would immediately return to Ada and get her out of the forest as quickly as possible, along with Circe. She knew that she could trust Dimity, who’d merely nodded in agreement, no arguing, no attempting to reassure her.

She followed the directions Pippa had given her, rolling the wooden message casket lightly between her fingertips. It was still a shock, seeing Ada’s hands in front of her, walking in Ada’s shoes, quite literally.

It didn’t take long to reach a small farmhouse, set in a clearing like something out of a fairy tale. The blind witch’s house from Hansel and Gretel, Hecate decided. She’d always hated that story. While she didn’t condone eating humans, children or otherwise, there was certainly little pity shown to a woman who constantly had annoying brats gnawing on the walls of her house.

She smirked at her own thoughts—at a time like this, really? Her amusement was quickly lost when a figure appeared in the clearing, standing in front of the house with a feline smile.

“Miss Cackle, well met.” There was sarcasm and derision poisoning every syllable, and the witch made no move to give the proper salutation. She was so small, tinier than Pippa even, and yet she carried herself like a giant, self-assured and indestructible.

“Asteria Allbright, I presume.” Ada’s voice sounded in Hecate’s ears, and she had to physically restrain herself from startling. In the anxiety of the moment, she’d forgotten that she would also _sound_ like Ada.

Asteria seemed slightly surprised that Hecate knew her name, but she recovered quickly. With a nod towards the message casket, she surmised, “You got my letter, I see.”

“Where is she?”

“Not here.” Asteria answered easily, giving a slight wave of her hand. “Do you really think I’d be foolish enough to keep her at the same location that I’m meeting you?”

Hecate took a moment to steady her breathing. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. If she fought Asteria, even if she won, what if Asteria didn’t tell her where to find Circe? What if one of the other coven members escaped, what if she somehow alerted them to the truth and Circe was killed before Hecate could find her?

She clenched her jaw, blinking rapidly in frustration.

That’s when something caught her eye—a patch of blooming flowers, just at the edge of the house. It was odd, even in a forest enchanted to keep out winter. Because they were spring flowers, and the woods were decidedly trapped in fall. And these flowers needed sunlight, Hecate knew—they were the same blue ones that their mother used to plant in the back garden, the ones Circe would get in trouble for picking, time and again—

_Circe_. She was inside that damnable house, trapped somewhere, trying to cry out in the only way she could. Through her green magic.

Hecate didn’t keep the smug smile from spreading across her face. Again, Ada’s voice came from her lips as she tutted, “Now, Miss Allbright, we both know that’s a lie. Bring her out—once I see her, I will give you anything you wish.”

“Your beloved deputy isn’t nearly as obliging as you are,” Asteria noted, not even bothering to refute Hecate’s statement. With a snap of her fingers, she transferred Circe to a few yards behind them, in a tumbling heap. Hecate took a step forward, but Asteria held up a hand to ward her off, “Oh, Miss Cackle, I don’t think so. You won’t come any closer until you’ve given up your powers. Then you can have a better look.”

Circe was struggling to sit up, her eyes wide with relief that quickly muted into fear. Her voice was a rasp, and Hecate’s blood boiled at the bruises along her sister’s jaw and neck, the dark circles under her eyes and the cracked paleness of her lips. Still, Circe was trying to speak, “Wh-whuh-where’s—”

“I’m right here,” Hecate assured her. “Heck, I’m here.”

The use of Circe’s nickname for Hecate made her light up with understanding. She calmed down slightly, stilling her movements and closing her eyes as her body tried to adjust to the sensation of sitting upright for the first time in two days.

“Now,” Asteria stepped forward, blocking Hecate’s line of sight on her sister. She magicked a strange black sphere, riddled with runes and carvings, into the palm of her hand, which she extended towards Hecate. “Give up your powers.”

Hecate merely bowed her head, placing her hands around the orb. “As you wish.”

* * *

 

Dimity didn’t like this. It was all going too smoothly. Asteria hadn’t tested HB-turned-Ada, hadn’t set any traps for Pippa and Dimity to stumble into—and the other two witches were apparently just chilling in the cabin, not feeling the need to back up their coven sister at all. The amount of surety coming from the other side did not sit well with her.

They gave up Circe too easily, she realized. She reached out with a location spell, and realized that nothing came back, even though Circe was only a few hundred yards away, right in front of her eyes.

Why shield her from being found now? That didn’t make sense… _unless Circe wasn’t really there_.

* * *

 

“Ada Cackle bestows her powers freely.” Hecate slowly intoned the words, focusing on holding her own magic back. She felt the energy receding, her own powers rushing in to fill the empty space with joy as it reclaimed every part of her again, free from competing against another witch’s magic in her veins.

She looked up to see Asteria Allbright’s triumphant grin, so eerily like Agatha’s that for a moment Hecate wondered if she’d learned the trait from her former leader. Hecate shifted, trying to get a clear view of Circe—but she didn’t look right. She looked…pale. Faded.

The realization hit her in the gut. An apparition.

Asteria must have seen the realization in her expression, because she gave a low chuckle, “Oh, dear, you didn’t really think I’d hand over your little lover just like that, did you? I still very much need her—well, I need her powers, though I don’t think she’ll be as compliant as you. In fact, I hope she isn’t. It’s always a bit _anticlimactic_ , having a sacrifice that doesn’t at least show some fighting spirit beforehand. I’ve always preferred a challenge, don’t you?”

The certainty filled Hecate’s entire body with lead. The coven had never planned to return Circe alive. Blood magic was their aim. “But…why?”

Asteria was still smirking, looking at her as if she were absolutely daft. “Because you deserve to be punished, Ada. But not by me—I’m leaving you alive, alive and powerless, for your sister to deal with. It’s only fair, don’t you think?”

This woman’s cruelty sent a wave of revulsion through Hecate. It was the same shock she’d felt whenever she’d discovered that Agatha had transformed three students into cakes and had attempted to feed them to the other girls, during her thankfully-brief tenure as headmistress.

This only strengthened her resolve. She’d feel no regret, destroying these witches and everything they stood for. She closed her eyes, bones rattling with a need for vengeance. They’d hurt Circe, had probably taunted her with the thought of her impending demise, and if they were successful in defeating Hecate and her companions, they would make sure Circe’s death—her _murder_ —was neither quick nor painless. She knew this, as deeply as she knew her own name. All in the name of a woman who would willing sentence _children_ to similarly painful fates.

_I am justified_ , she reminded herself as she felt the anger and the power whirling through her limbs. She summoned Dimity to her side, feeling the woman’s magic bouncing against her own, ready for whatever came next.

Asteria’s lack of surprise only fed into their theory that she’d been well-aware of their approach, and had known that there was more than one witch in the woods.

“Follow the flowers,” Hecate muttered through gritted teeth, trying not to give too much away.

“What?” Dimity looked around wildly. “There aren’t any—”

Hecate gave a flick of her wrist, making the flowers glow, as if that could bring them to Dimity’s attention.

“That weird glowing mist thing?” Dimity guessed. A curt nod from HB-as-Ada confirmed her suspicions, and Asteria whipped around to follow Dimity’s gaze.

Asteria gave a growl at the sight. “That little bitch. I knew she was up to something.”

“Find her,” Hecate whispered one last time. Dimity transferred to where the glowing began and Asteria shot out a bolt of light to stop her—however the light bounced off, deflected by someone else’s shot.

Asteria whipped around, back to the source—Ada Cackle, who was grinning smugly at her. She glanced back at the orb in her hands, which was still heavy and pulsing with Ada’s magic. She’d given up her magic, how was this happening?

Ada was transforming now, slowly morphing into an entirely different frame. The woman before her was still smiling, the snarling kind of smile a wolf makes before it takes the throat of the rabbit, her eyes impossibly dark and glittering.

“You really have no idea what you’ve done, Miss Allbright. But I will gladly teach you.”

* * *

 

Pippa Pentangle clenched her hands into fists, straining to keep an eye on Dimity, who was hurrying around the opposite side of the farmhouse, intent on following whatever strange path Hecate had created for her.

Still, she stayed where she was, knowing her best defense was in being unseen and unaccounted for, at least until the other two witches appeared. Staying under her invisibility spell, she transferred herself to just outside the farmhouse, peeking inside the window. She saw the other two witches standing at the front door, watching Hecate and Asteria with the kind of rabid eagerness that immediately made Pippa think of pack mentality. They wouldn’t step in to help until Asteria ordered them to, she realized—but they’d take unholy delight in watching her destroy another witch.

She saw them stutter about slightly, and she ripped her gaze away from them to look ahead, at the clearing where Asteria and Hecate stood.

Hecate just revealed her true self—and in the process, had revealed that she still had some measure of magical power as well. _Well, shit._

Something inside the house drew their attention, because suddenly, they swiveled on their heels, listening for a beat before transferring away.

_Dimity_.

Pippa sent out a locating spell, transferring herself to wherever the woman was—a dangerous move, since she had no idea where she was going or what exactly she was going into, but desperate times, desperate measures.

She transferred into chaos, not surprisingly. The dimly lit room smelled of damp earth and the air was heavy with moisture. Dimity was hovering over Circe’s prone form, trying to protect her while warding off attacks from the two witches. The glowing flashes of light shooting from every direction were blinding in the dark room, only adding to Pippa’s disorientation. She gritted her teeth and did her best anyways.

Pippa began firing back, concentrating on hitting places where protective shields were usually weakest, hitting places around the witches to accomplish her aims—a wooden beam shattering overhead proved a useful distraction, the shards and splinters causing confusion and havoc.

“It’s a fly trap!” Dimity exclaimed, her voice filled with terror.

It took Pippa a moment to comprehend her words. The room had been charmed—anyone could transfer in, but no one could transfer out. Their only option was the door, which currently had two very determined witches blocking it.

“Hands,” Circe croaked, straining against her bonds. “My hands.”

Dimity ducked down again, shielding them against another bolt as she magicked away Circe’s bonds. The younger woman rolled forward with a groan, smacking her palms on the hardened earth. Dimity grabbed her arm, wincing regretfully at the yelp of pain the action elicited from Circe, pulling her to her feet.

“Just move forward and keep her safe,” Pippa commanded. “I’ll handle these two.”

With another zip of magic, she shattered another section of the wooden ceiling beam. More dirt and wood rained over the two witches—one gave a shriek of pain as a splinter fell into her eye. Dimity used the opportunity to stun the woman with a powerful bolt, sending her crumpling to the floor. Pippa turned all her attention to the other witch, who was still standing, still fighting.

Dimity realized what Pippa was doing as she slowly moved away from Dimity and Circe, drawing the other witch’s fire and attention. Dimity urged Circe onward, practically dragging the woman through the doorway. Once they were out, she transferred back to Ada, wondering if she was abandoning Pippa for the last time.

* * *

 

Ada jumped when Dimity popped up in front of her, clutching a moaning Circe in her arms. Dimity felt a wave of fear as she took in Ada’s face, pale and haggard with anxiety.

“Just keep an eye on her!” Dimity yelled, adrenaline pounding in her ears like war drums as she gingerly took Circe’s arm from around her own neck and slipped it over Ada’s.

Ada stared open-mouthed as Dimity zipped away again, stumbling slightly under the weight of Circe against her. She gently lowered the younger woman to a sitting position, wincing at all the injuries she saw. Circe was squinting, her eyes still adjusting to sunlight again, her head reeling from the transfer spell.

“Heck—she’s still—”

“I know,” Ada assured her. She felt absolutely helpless—she had no powers, no way to help Circe’s injuries heal, no way to be useful at all. “And she’s going to come back, safe and sound. I promise you.”

Circe gave a slight shake of her head, groaning. Her words were thick, as if her mouth was filled with cotton (probably the fault of that very swollen jaw, Ada surmised). “She’ll—she won’t rest until that place is ash. Even if it kills her.”

Ada quelled the wave of fear that washed through her—because she knew the truth of Circe’s words, had felt a similar fear herself. However, she kept her voice calm, “She promised me that she wouldn’t get herself killed.”

Circe’s cracked lips twisted into a wry grin as she arched a brow, almost drunken in her movements. “Well, if Heck promised, then it’s as good as done, right?”

Ada smiled as well, “Generally. Your sister is a very determined woman, Circe Hardbroom.”

Now if only that determination could prove stronger than whatever else and whoever else was out there. Ada clutched the timepiece around her neck, closing her eyes as she silently prayed to the woman currently out of her sight but in every corner of her mind. _Hecate Hardbroom, you come back to me._

* * *

 

Hecate felt a dark joy at the way Asteria Allbright’s face contorted, from confusion to anger and yes, the briefest flash of fear. The woman quickly realized her mistake.

“You took the wrong witch,” Hecate still pointed out the obvious, still took the moment to gloat, to remind the woman of her own stupidity. “But I’m here now—and you have a lot to answer for.”

Circe may have been an apparition, but those bruises had been real. The obvious torment she’d endured had been real, and had been inflicted by the woman standing before her.

But it would be nothing compared to what Hecate would rain upon this woman and her sisters. Death would be a mercy for which they _begged_. They would not lift a hand against her sister, against Ada, against _anyone_ , ever again.

_There’s a depth in you, Hecate Hardbroom_ , _a _depth that most would be too afraid to sound.__ Mistress Broomhead’s words returned, reverberating in her head with furious delight.

Today she would sound it. The world would tremble, and those who’d ever dared to hurt her loved ones would know that depth.

Asteria wasn’t a fool—she didn’t wait for Hecate to strike first, instead whipping out her right hand like a snake, sending a white bolt straight for Hecate’s chest.

Hecate’s protective spell rocked from the impact, but she was unharmed. She ducked her head, out of instinct, quickly recovering. She grinned again, knowing that it unnerved her opponent. Opening her arms in a welcoming gesture, she challenged, “Asteria Allbright, is that all you’ve got?”

Asteria snarled, wrenching back her arm to send another bolt towards Hecate, but Hecate reacted more quickly, zinging out a shot that bounced just over Asteria’s right shoulder, where she’d guessed the boundary of her protective shield to be. She was right—Asteria stumbled back slightly, thrown off-kilter by the way her own shield pulled her back.

But Asteria rebounded easily. This time, her attack went to the ground beneath Hecate’s feet. The blast sent earth and leaves shooting everywhere, creating a hole that Hecate’s ankle twisted into. Hecate gave a curse under her breath as she skittered back onto her feet, the pain shooting instantly through her leg only fueling her anger and her desire for blood.

Asteria never stopped her assault for a single beat, the blows raining mercilessly upon Hecate’s shield. Hecate briefly contemplated simply waiting it out, letting the other woman tire herself and drain her energy before striking. It was the smarter choice.

And the more cowardly one, Hecate decided. She ached with the need to prove herself, to show this woman that she was no match, that Hecate was better and more powerful in every way.

Thick cords wrapped around her ankles, slithering up her legs with fearful speed and pressure—Hecate’s brain swam in confusion as she tried to figure out what was happening. She looked around, suddenly realizing—Asteria was calling the roots of the forest to capture Hecate, to pull her down into the ground.

Anger surged through her lungs, and her only thought was _fire_. She pushed the thought through her legs, feeling the climbing roots recoil from the heat, trying to retreat back to the cool safety of the earth. She ignored Asteria’s continued blows, confident in her shield’s ability as she ducked to her knees, clutching at the roots that tried to shrink away, bowing her head and pushing with all her magic. The roots hissed and writhed, steam coming from them as heat sizzled and evaporated any moisture left in them.

She looked up, locking onto Asteria’s gaze with nothing short of absolute hatred.

_I will set every inch of this forest ablaze, I will raze your world to the ground and you will finally know what it truly means to take on a fight you can never possibly win._

* * *

 

Dimity transferred back into the terrifying cellar, plunging through the still-open door. The room was still chaos, but somehow more contained. All three remaining witches were still shooting bolts back and forth, but it was decidedly set in favor of the two strangers, who’d backed Pippa into a corner. The pink witch was still fighting, still trying to shield herself—however her shots were weaker, barely making any effort.

The great thing about protective shields was that they kept the bearer safe from magical advances, but not physical attacks. And luckily, Dimity was not above bringing a knife to a gunfight. She stepped back outside, and called forth a wooden slat from the staircase. Clutching it tightly in her hands, she strode resolutely back into the room, where everyone was understandably oblivious to her arrival.

It took one swift whack to the head to take out the first witch, and two for the second. Dimity decided she liked the poetic quality of it. Pippa was staring at her, still slumped in the corner, mouth open into an _O_ of shock.

“This will go a lot faster if you come help me,” Dimity stooped over the first witch. She magicked a binding rope, casting a spell so that only she could release its ties. Pippa stumbled over, doing the same for the second attacker.

“I-I-I can’t believe you just—you knocked them out, stone cold,” Pippa was still shaking, the admiration and adrenaline evident in her tone. “You just—you’re quite fit, to pull off something like that.”

“Thanks. I do try,” Dimity dismissed the praise with a cheeky grin. Seriously, though, this was exactly why she pushed the girls to maintain physical fitness. One couldn’t always expect magic to work, couldn’t fully rely on being able to think their way out of a situation. “Now, let’s go save HB’s ass.”

Pippa was already skittering through the open door, snapping her fingers to transfer away. Dimity was close behind.

They popped into the clearing. At first, Pippa’s heart leapt with fear as she saw Hecate crouched down, being bombarded by Asteria Allbright’s bolts of magic. Then she realized that Hecate was holding on to something, not overwhelmed by Asteria’s advances, but rather withstanding them easily.

“We have to get that orb!” Dimity hissed, pointing to the object in question, which lay near Asteria’s feet, forgotten in the melee. With a whip of her hand, she called it to her. The action made Asteria turn around, her face glowering with rage.

Dimity shoved it into Pippa’s hands. “Back to Ada, figure it out!”

Pippa was gone in an instant, a bolt of lightning shooting through the spot where she once stood. The next shot winged Dimity, causing her to stumble.

“Go with her!” HB bellowed, still on her knees, still clutching whatever those strange, smoking cords were in her hands.

Dimity felt the urge to argue, but she knew that HB was making the right choice. Right now, Pippa was the only witch with full command of her powers and her physical health, left alone to defend Ada and Circe. And Dimity had made a promise to HB—one she intended to keep, at all costs.

_I’m coming back_ , she silently made another promise, transferring away as HB fired at Asteria, redirecting her attention and her ire.

Hecate tightened her grip on the set of roots that she still had in her right hand, forcing her concentration into the writhing thing. _Twisted root, against thy mistress turn, billow and rage and ruin and burn._

* * *

 

By the time Dimity appeared, Pippa was already madly turning the black orb containing Ada’s powers over in her hands, fingers flitting over the runes and markings with frenetic energy.

“I-I don’t know where to—there’s so many of them,” Pippa was nearly panting with anxiety as panic skittered through her body like an electrical storm, causing her hands to twitch and jump of their own accord. “They don’t—they don’t even make sense. Here is star and…you? And bird—I think that’s, yes, ah…maybe not maybe it’s—oh how on earth does this thing work?!”

Dimity knew a panic attack when she saw one, and Pippa Pentangle was definitely dancing right up to the brink. She reached out, cupping her hands over the blonde witch’s trembling ones, stilling her movements, pressing them harder and creating reassuring pressure between Dimity’s hands and the orb.

“Deep breaths, Pip, mkay?” Dimity kept her gaze locked on Pippa’s face, waiting for the woman to look up and make eye contact. When she did, Dimity offered a reassuring smile, “You’ve got this. Just keep taking deep breaths. In…and out….in…and out.”

Pippa gave a quick nod, blinking back tears as she tried to follow Dimity’s instructions. She ducked her head, trying to still the rattling of her bones.

Once Dimity was sure that Pippa was at least breathing enough to keep from passing out, she returned her attention to Circe, who was still sitting on the ground with a dazed expression. Ada was crouched next to the younger woman, looking a bit lost and helpless herself.

Dimity magicked a flask of water and gently placed it in Circe’s hands. “There ya go, drink up. I’ll see what we can do about these injuries.”

Circe shook her head, dismissing Dimity’s attempt to heal her. “I earned these. I need them to keep me alert, right now.”

Ada fought back a smirk. Hardbrooms and their need to self-improve through suffering.

Circe offered a wan smile, “But you can absolutely patch me up, once we’ve gotten out of here.”

She didn’t confess that she wanted Hecate to heal her, wanted the nostalgic comfort of feeling her sister’s magic, of feeling like a small child again, completely safe and secure under her big sister’s care. She turned her attention to the very pink witch who stood a few feet away, slowly turning over a strange black orb in her hands, the same one Heck had transferred Miss Cackle’s powers into. Circe had panicked when Dimity first transferred them to Miss Cackle—through the apparition spell, she’d seen Heck give up her powers, and the thought of her sister being so defenseless against Asteria had filled her with absolute terror. Miss Cackle had quietly explained the situation, allaying her fears.

Despite Miss Cackle’s sense of calm, Circe had still seen the worry shining in the older woman’s eyes. While she’d also felt that same fear, she also felt a small frisson of warmth at the realization that her sister had found a good woman, a true love. She gently reached out, patting Miss Cackle’s hand reassuringly, quietly hoping that soon her powers would be returned.

“Poppy, isn’t it?” Circe spoke up, squinting as she tried to remember.

“Pippa,” the pink witch returned, distracted by her work.

“Ah, right. Pippa. You might want to start with that little carving, the one next to your right pinky,” Circe titled her head towards the orb. “It’s the Seed of Life.”

Pippa gingerly shifted the orb around, trying to keep her pinky in its current position so that she could more easily find the point Circe was referencing. Sure enough, there was a larger carving of overlapping circles, a sacred geometry pattern that Pippa had seen often during her studies abroad. Keeping a finger there, she tilted the orb in her hands, looking for the Flower of Life, the seed’s final form.

“Goddess, she was a clever witch, wasn’t she?” Pippa murmured to herself. Runes and sacred geometry, mixed together to decrease the chances of being opened by someone other than its owner. Eventually, she found what she was looking for. She placed an index finger on each carving, and the runes began to glow with an eerie blue light.

“Alright, that looks like progress,” Dimity took a step closer, eyes wide with curiosity.

“It’s like a combination lock,” Pippa explained, her brain zapping with understanding. “The runes have to be read…or touched, in a certain order. At least that’s what I think it is. I could be—”

“I think you’re absolutely right,” Ada piped up, giving a curt nod of reassurance.

Pippa frowned as she concentrated on the runes. “This says…star of…good? That doesn’t…maybe it means star of goodness? The good star? And then…sisterhood, commands to open…so—the star of the good sisterhood commands you to open?”

The orb did not respond. Pippa’s face skewed in absolute confusion. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“It seems too easy,” Dimity pointed out. “This woman knows tricks upon tricks—and yet she locks this orb with something that can be opened with relative ease, so long as you know runes?”

All four witches considered this, wracking their brains to figure out the riddle.

“Asteria means star,” Circe pointed out. “Maybe that’s the trick. The runes say one thing, but the words you’re actually supposed to say mean another.”

Dimity pointed at Circe, “Excellent idea. So…Asteria of the good sisterhood? That seems…off.”

“Agatha.” Ada’s voice was quiet, almost tired. “Agatha means good.”

Dimity didn’t point out the irony. Mainly because Pippa was already steamrolling ahead, “Asteria of Agatha’s... _coven_. A coven is a sisterhood, of sorts. Asteria of Agatha’s coven commands you to open.”

This time, the black orb responded, pushing outward like a rubik’s cube coming apart, rising from Pippa’s grasp. Dark shards floated around a glowing center.

Ada stood up, holding out her hands to call her magic back to its rightful place. The glow became a trail, wisping through the air to slither into Ada’s palms, snaking through her veins with greedy delight. She gave a sigh of relief, flexing her fingers as she relished the way they tingled and crackled with power once more.

A single snowflake fell on the back of Ada’s hand, and she stared at it in wonder. She looked up to the sky, frowning slightly. How had the snow finally gotten in? Had Hecate somehow broken the enchantment?

“Oh, no,” Dimity breathed quietly.

And that’s when Ada realized it wasn’t snow at all.

It was ashes. The forest was burning around them.

* * *

 

The root in Hecate’s hand ripped itself away from her, the force creating rope burn and making her palm sing with pain. She clenched her jaw to keep from screaming out—another blow of Asteria's magic against her shield quickly distracted her.

“These woods are under _my_ control,” Asteria called out smugly. She obviously hadn’t realized what Hecate had been doing—she thought the woman was trying to command the roots, not destroy them.

As if to prove her point, Asteria raised her hand with a theatrical flourish, and a root snapped from the earth again. The blow landed quick and hot against Hecate’s face like a whip lash. She felt the warmth spreading across her left cheek and the oddly-cold wetness on her skin—she was bleeding, not surprisingly. She saw another movement from the corner of her eye and ducked away instinctively. Another root snapped against the side of her skull, sharp white pain shattering behind her eyelids as she fell forward onto her hands and knees. With a growl of frustration, Hecate stabbed her fingers deeper into the soil.

The earth exploded in a circle around her, throwing out bits of root and rock. Asteria could call roots from further away to grow out and attack Hecate, but it did buy her some time.

Time to do what, she wasn’t exactly sure. Hecate was on her feet again, lashing out in retaliation to Asteria’s blows, desperately trying to school the frustration and anger coursing through every ounce of her body into something more productive—not an easy feat, with adrenaline and vengeance screaming in her brain, her body responding with shooting pain.

Suddenly, another burst of light bombarded Asteria’s shield. Hecate whipped around to see Ada just a few feet away, brows furrowed as she concentrated her aim.

“Ada!” The word nearly ripped Hecate’s lungs from her chest, fear skyrocketing at the thought of Ada, her Ada, being so close to a woman who wanted to destroy her. Without any conscious thought, she transferred herself to the blonde’s side—Ada briefly glanced in her direction, and Hecate realized that she must look truly frightening, because those blue eyes were wide with fear and worry.

“I came as soon as I could,” Ada forced herself to look back at Asteria, to keep her own shield in place as the woman rained retaliatory blows upon them. She fought the urge to take Hecate into her arms, to inspect the damage—that face, that lovely face, streaked in blood and dirt, the way Hecate’s entire body was contracted into a knot of pained tension, it was like she was back in the Wailing Wishmaker all over again, being tortured anew with Hecate’s pain.

Asteria resorted to old tricks—she aimed a blow at the ground beneath their feet. Hecate had enough time to pull Ada back, stepping in front of her slightly, as if to instinctively shield her. Ada never stopped firing back, merely anchoring herself with one arm around Hecate’s waist.

“You have to leave,” Hecate’s voice was desperate. “Take Circe and the others, wait at the edge of the forest, with the brooms—”

“Hecate, I’m not—”

The younger woman whirled around to face Ada, body crumpling forward slightly as Asteria landed a blow right on her back, rattling her protective shield. Ada reached to steady her, but Hecate stopped her, gripping both her wrists with fervent insistency. “Ada, I need you to be safe. I can handle her—please, just trust me.”

Oh, Ada felt that plea hit her harder than any attack from Asteria. Goddess, must this be the way she had to prove herself?

“Hecate…” She could hear the plaintiveness in her own tone, could hear the fear and the hesitancy. Of course she trusted Hecate, but the idea of leaving her alone to fight against an accomplished duelist and powerful witch like Asteria—that seemed like more madness than trust.

Asteria launched another attack, and Hecate ducked forward, wrapping her arms around Ada to keep her safe.

In that moment, Ada understood that her presence was a danger to Hecate. The younger woman would do anything to ensure Ada’s safety—she couldn’t even concentrate on the witch intent on killing them, because she was worried about Ada.

Ada didn’t waste time with words. She merely slipped out of Hecate’s grasp, taking a single second to lock eyes before transferring away. In the milliseconds before she disappeared completely, she saw the flash of relief on Hecate’s features.

She prayed that it wouldn’t be the last time she ever saw that face.

* * *

 

“What the hell, woman?” Dimity was open-mouthed, throwing her arms wide with shock as Ada appeared before them, alone and rattled. “Where’s HB? Is she—”

“We have to leave now,” Ada instructed.

“Not without Hecate,” Pippa shot back.

“We’re waiting for her at the edge of the forest,” Ada returned, her tone brooking no refusals. “She needs to know that we are safe, and I promised her this much. She is more than capable of defeating Asteria Allbright, but she can’t do it if she’s preoccupied with our safety.”

She hoped that she seemed more certain about Hecate’s ability than she felt. She looked up at the trees, where bits of ash still danced on the breeze.

Pippa made small sounds of protest, but Dimity stepped forward, gently helping Circe to her feet. “Let’s go, then. HB might be a prideful twat about a lot of things, but she’s not stupid when it comes to strategy.”

Ada knew that Dimity was trying to add levity to the tension, but her mind instantly refuted the statement—Hecate wasn’t stupid about strategy, to be sure, but she also would rather die than put her loved ones in danger.

_She made a promise_ , Ada reminded herself. _She knelt at your feet and promised to protect herself as fiercely as she’s protected you—and when has Hecate Hardbroom ever failed in her defense of you?_

She wanted to go back, to help stop Asteria Allbright, to bind the witch and bring her before the Great Wizard, to finally end the reign of terror caused by Agatha’s coven, to save Hecate from her own noble impulses—but she couldn’t. Because she’d made a promise, too.

Ada couldn’t think of a more terrifying test of trust than this. Still, she would not fail this time. She looked over at Miss Pentangle, whose mouth was still set in a thin, hard line, and offered a small smile of reassurance.

“I don’t like this,” Pippa announced, rather unnecessarily.

“You’d like it less if you popped back in there and got my sister killed by distracting her,” Circe shot back, her tone light and her lips smiling but her eyes hard with ferocity. She glanced over at Ada again, silently asking for confirmation.

Ada gave a small nod, “The moment I appeared, Hecate abandoned all thought of actually fighting against Asteria—her only focus was protecting me, which distracted her from what she needed to do.”

“She can be distracted all she likes—the odds will be in our favor,” Pippa pointed out. Really, she didn’t know why she was still here, debating this. She could easily pop away and help Hecate fight the woman.

So that’s exactly what she did.


	9. Chapter 9

Pippa transferred to her original hiding spot, but this time she didn’t stay in the shadows, waiting for the right moment. She strode forward, sending her heavy cloak away with a flick of her fingers as she pulled up her protective shield and concentrated on pushing her power into her palms. She wasn’t a very strong duelist, she knew, but anything was better than nothing. A distraction for Hecate was a distraction for Asteria, too—that could be a point in their favor.

Her shocking pink amidst the fall-tones of the forest was a bit obvious, and Asteria saw her soon enough. Her distraction gave Hecate a chance to land a solid hit against her shield, causing her to stumble back slightly.

Pippa took the opportunity to launch into an attack, right and left hands finding as easy rhythm, switching back and forth as they sent out bursts of pink light. She suddenly realized how much energy her earlier fight in the cellar had taken, but it was too late to back down now. Hiccup needed her.

“Get out of here!” Hecate was shrieking at her, the terror evident in every syllable. Pippa merely frowned in concentration.

Asteria was grinning as she flicked her wrists in Pippa’s direction. Suddenly, roots shot from the ground, clutching Pippa’s ankles and causing her to fall forward. As soon as her hands hit the soil, more roots snapped around her wrists, pulling her further down.

Hecate was at her side in a flash, her face etched with terror. “Pippa, you must—”

Pippa screamed as Hecate was jerked away from her like a ragdoll, a tree root firmly wrapped around her waist.

“Now, Miss Hardbroom, I think we’ve had more than enough interruptions,” Asteria was practically crowing with delight. The root tossed Hecate forward and she tumbled across the leaf-littered ground. With a flourish of her hands, Asteria created a dome around herself and the potions mistress. “Once I’m finished with you, I’ll take care of your little pink friend. But for now, let’s enjoy our time together, shall we?”

Hecate was trying to move, trying to push herself back to her feet, but her body wasn’t obeying. Her right shoulder was searing with pain, but her arm was completely numb, unable to move at all. Her lungs were struggling to regain oxygen after the force of the fall, her vision blurring and swimming with dark spots.

In that moment, she realized that Asteria Allbright had been toying with her the whole time. The woman had great power, and she’d enjoyed playing with Hecate, like a cat with a mouse.

She finally rose to her feet again, not bothering to hold back the sharp yelp that erupted from her lungs when her right shoulder shifted, shooting white-hot pain through her body. Tears stung her eyes, but she didn’t wipe them away. She watched Asteria carefully, her brain trying to find a solution. She willed herself not to look over at Pippa, whose voice seemed oddly muted by the dome Asteria had placed around them.

“You know, I meant what I said, earlier,” Asteria was moving slowly, assured in her victory. “I wanted you to put up a good fight, before I took what I needed from you—and you’ve done quite admirably, for a little school marm. But I do have a schedule to keep, so we’ll need to wrap this up.”

Asteria closed her eyes, not the least bit concerned by the thought of Hecate retaliating. Hecate didn’t fire a shot— _not every opportunity is the right opportunity_.

A flash of movement caught Hecate’s eye, and she turned to see Ada, standing just outside the dome. Ada moved forward, and Hecate instinctively matched her, taking a step towards the blonde. But Ada hit the outside of the dome, stumbling back slightly when the bubble pushed her back.

Hecate knew that Ada wouldn’t have come back on her own accord, not after Hecate had asked her to leave, which meant Asteria had brought her back—brought her back just to witness Hecate’s defeat. To watch Hecate’s death.

“So glad you could join us!” Asteria called gleefully. Her face was glowing with delight, an unnatural sheen on her skin.

The dome and the spell to transfer Ada had been taxing, Hecate realized. The bit with the tree roots probably hadn’t been a breeze, either. Asteria was running on adrenaline, pushing herself to the limit to finish this before she ran out of energy entirely.

She was becoming reckless.

Ada couldn’t breathe—her throat was clenched entirely shut at the sight of Hecate, even more bruised and beaten than when she’d last seen her. And she wasn’t fighting anymore, why wasn’t she fighting? Ada wanted to call to her, to prompt her into action, to save her, to do something, but fear ruled supreme, and she felt turned to stone, petrified on the spot.

“Now, Ada, I want you to know that you are reserved for Agatha,” Asteria’s voice was rich with coy surety. “But I don’t think she’ll mind if I have a wee bit of fun at your expense. Tell me, did you enjoy the lovely little flower I sent you?”

The Wailing Wishmaker. Ada’s blood ran cold at the implication.

“That’s the thing about the whole alternate-reality, though, isn’t it?” Asteria cocked her head to one side, feigning sadness. “It’s just not… _real_ enough.”

Ada’s lungs collapsed entirely. _No_.

“Let’s see what we can do to remedy that, shall we?” Asteria turned back to Hecate with a flourish. She sent a zap of light in Hecate’s direction, which the woman easily deflected. Asteria merely smiled—it was all a grand game to her, and she was winning by a landslide.

Hecate took a step to the side, and felt the odd sensation of her skirt sticking to her skin. The side of her dress was wet, she realized. It took a moment to understand why—she still had the pouch attached to her belt, filled with potions. Some of the vials must have shattered, when she was thrown by the root. Not surprising, she mused.

Her left hand (her only good arm left), gingerly patted the pouch—it was instinct, a need to do something with her hand as the anxiety built, as she cautiously watched Asteria make a wide half-circle around her.

There was one vial left unshattered. When she’d packed the pouch, she’d only taken three different types of potions, though she’d brought a few of each: transformative, healing, and rejuvenating. At this point, it didn’t matter what the potion was, it could only help her defense.

Still, she glanced down at the label—best to know what would happen when she drank it. Her protective shield suddenly rocked from impact as Asteria sent a huge ball of light into her chest, and the vial slipped from her grasp, losing itself in the leaves.

Hecate was too busy trying to recover from the blinding pain rocketing through her entire body to care about the lost potion. Somewhere in the haze, she heard Ada’s screams, Ada calling her name, even felt the odd warble of the dome as Ada launched herself forward, desperately trying to break through, to come to her side.

_Ada cannot watch me die._ Hecate’s entire being shook with vehemence. Yes, she’d made a promise to Ada, and she was determined to keep it—but more than anything, she would not let Asteria terrorize Ada with helplessly watching Hecate’s death. She couldn’t transfer Ada away, knowing it would take more precious strength, every ounce of which was needed to fight Asteria’s advances.

Hecate held up her hand, as if silently reassuring Ada that she was alright, that she was still standing, still fighting.

Ada saw the flash of Hecate’s connection bangle peeking from under the cuff of her sleeve. Unsure of what else to do, Ada clutched her own bracelet, trying to relay something, _anything_ to the woman she loved, the woman who needed her so desperately right now, the woman she was helpless to aid and protect.

Hecate felt it, she knew, because she saw the surprised flex of that expressive hand, the momentary ripple of her fingers.

Asteria was merely watching Hecate, like a cat debating whether or not to end the game with its prized mouse. Hecate waited, her brain still reeling with possible moves and counter-moves. Ada’s grip around her wrist was grounding, filled with fear and faith and determination, keeping Hecate in her own body, bringing her back to herself. Ada wasn’t holding her back—she was giving her strength.

Hecate’s mind flew back to the night of the Samhain ceremony, to the memory Ada’s hand on her back, supporting her as she reached to the heavens with her staff—

_Her staff_.

Hecate’s entire body jolted with realization. She’d spent her entire life hiding it, had taken on every other attack without it—she hadn’t even thought about it, during this battle. But if ever she needed something to heighten her power and concentrate her energies, this was certainly the moment.

She summoned the staff into her hand, taking a slight breath as she dropped her protective shield—every ounce of energy was channeled into the palm of her hand, lighting up the glass staff and filling the crescent moon at its top.

She looked back to Asteria, whose eyes were wide with shock and— _oh, yes, fear_. Hecate felt an unholy delight surging through her veins at that look. Because she’d been right—Asteria was on the last dregs of her energy, and she hadn’t expected Hecate to fight back much longer, or with much strength.

_I told you—you would learn_ , Hecate’s inner voice sang. She whipped her left arm forward, pointing her staff at Asteria’s chest. Her entire body shook as she concentrated on pushing every last bit of energy and strength into the staff, into the strong, singular bolt of light that shot out, sizzling against Asteria’s shield like liquid fire.

Ada’s grip tightened around her wrist, urging her onward. Hecate felt a flush of breathless delight, quickly marshalling that thrill back into focus, using the nerves and adrenaline to push harder against the shield.

With an almighty crack, Asteria’s defenses shattered. The shield gave way and Asteria was blown back, landing against a tree. The dome burbled away. Pippa sprang to her feet with a cry of relief as the roots receded, falling away like dead leaves without a mistress to command them.

Hecate was on her knees now, staff still clutched in her grasp, still extended towards Asteria, ready to respond if she made a move. But the other woman was still a small heap at the base of the tree, too dazed to retaliate.

Pippa made swift work of her, though. She magicked another set of ropes, repeating the same process she and Dimity had done with the other two witches: binding the ropes with her own magic, so that no other could release them, quickly tying them around Asteria.

She looked back to Hecate. Ada was at her side now, gently wrapping her arms around the woman as they both sat on their knees in the midst of the forest floor, ashes still falling from the burning tree tops. With another whip of her wrists, Pippa transferred Asteria into the cabin, placing a binding spell around the building. The Great Wizard could sort the rest out—for now, they were safe.

Pippa transferred to the two women, landing on her knees to gingerly place a hand on each one.

“It’s over,” she breathed, the realization finally hitting her and turning her muscles to jelly.

“You shouldn’t have come back,” Hecate murmured. Her energy was completely sapped and her adrenaline was likewise gone—nothing could hold back the agony of her injuries any longer, and her entire body trembled in pain.

Pippa rolled her eyes. Typical Hecate. In a moment like this, all the woman could do was focus on the negative. “Really, Hiccup, a simple thank you would suffice.”

This earned her a flicker of a smile. Ada’s hands were busy roaming over Hecate’s body, gingerly trying to assess the damage.

“Circe?” Hecate couldn’t form a full sentence.

“She’s safe. With Dimity,” Ada assured her. Her hand settled on Hecate’s right shoulder—the odd angle implied that it was dislocated, and Hecate’s raspy whimper confirmed as much. Ada bowed her head and pressed her magic into the site, feeling Hecate’s shoulder move forward, back into place.

Hecate let out a deep breath, lungs still skittering. Fire raced down her arm, but at least she could move her fingers again. Ada’s fingers were lightly brushing her cheek, her small sounds of dismay informing Hecate that she was inspecting the gash under her eye. More warmth flooded Hecate’s face, the sensation of Ada’s magic rippling against her skin as it healed her again.

“I’m coming back—with the others,” Pippa informed them, taking one last moment to make sure they were both alright before transferring away.

Ada was pulling Hecate closer now, wrapping herself around the younger woman as much as possible. Hecate held on, relishing the feel of Ada’s strength.

“Told you I’d win,” Hecate mumbled, voice croaking with exhaustion.

Ada let out a skittering laugh, all tears and relief. “I never doubted you, my dear.”

She kissed the top of her head, fighting down the urge to squeeze Hecate tightly, knowing it wouldn’t do any favors for her still-very-bruised body.

“I still need—my ankle,” Hecate moved away slightly, shifting so that Ada could have better access to the leg that needed healing.

“Well, I definitely owe you an ankle repair,” Ada quipped, her chest warming at the memory from just two nights ago, when she’d turned her own ankle and Hecate had healed her. She wondered if her own magic made Hecate feel the way she had felt, when Hecate’s magic had slipped under her skin.

There was a flurry of movement as Pippa reappeared with Dimity and Circe in tow.

“Heck!” Circe tumbled to her knees, grasping for her sister. Behind her, Dimity and Pippa concentrated on extinguishing the burning trees above them.

Hecate made a small skittering noise, returning Circe’s fervor as they tackled each other into an embrace.  Ada kept her hand on the small of Hecate’s back, not ready to let the woman out of reach, even for the smallest of distances.

Hecate’s hands were constantly moving, running up and down Circe’s back with fevered concern, as if she couldn’t quite believe that her baby sister was here, safe in her arms. She tried to find the words, “Are you—did she—you weren’t—”

“I’m fine, Heck,” Circe assured her, closing her eyes as the tears of love and relief sprang. “Nothing I couldn’t handle, easily.”

A lie, through and through. But the danger was past, and Heck was here.

Now Hecate was sitting back, keeping her hands on Circe’s shoulders as she inspected her sister’s bruises. “You don’t look fine.”

Circe let out a sharp laugh. “Well, you’re one to talk.”

Hecate gave a wry grin at the remark, knowing she probably still looked like hell at the moment, despite Ada’s careful attentions. She gingerly placed her fingers on Circe’s jaw—her magic came, weak and warm, doing little to heal her sister.

Still, Circe felt her sister’s magic and smiled. “It’s alright, Heck. You can fix me up, once we’re back at Cackle’s.”

“Speaking of,” Dimity hated to interrupt the lovely reunion, but one glance at the sky informed her that they needed to move quickly, in order to be out of the woods before nightfall. “We should probably get going.”

“I’m not sure we’re going to get very far tonight,” Pippa surveyed the traveling company, all battered and exhausted from their day. “It’s a long walk back to the brooms.”

“What about them?” Circe nodded towards the cabin. Her shoulders hitched slightly, taut with tension.

“The Great Wizard will take it from here,” Ada informed her.

“They certainly won’t be going anywhere of their own accord,” Pippa added. “They’ve all been bound and the house itself is under a binding spell as well.”

Circe made a face of disapproval, but she didn’t comment. Hecate was looking around at the ground, brow furrowed in concern.

“Ada,” she whispered, more out of exhaustion than secrecy. “There’s a vial, I dropped, somewhere…”

Ada sent out a locating spell and soon had the vial in her hand.

Hecate read the label. _Rejuvenation_. She carefully uncorked it and handed it to Circe. “Here.”

For once, Circe didn’t object or try to make Hecate take some as well. Instead, she upended the entire potion into her mouth, closing her eyes as she felt the potions effects rippling through her limbs, giving her strength.

Good. She was going to need it.

Circe gently disengaged from her sister’s grasp, rising to her feet to move closer to the cabin. She felt the others shifting uneasily behind her, uncertain of her next move. She slowly lowered herself to her knees again, sinking her fingers into the earth and sending out her magic to search for the roots she’d grown in the cellar, the ones she’d charged with slipping around the foundation of the entire farmhouse.

_Twist and turn like vengeful asps, bring these stone walls to collapse._

Not her best work on rhyming, but it got the job done. She felt the ground shake, saw the walls of the farmhouse shudder as the roots tightened around its base, pulling inward to rip apart the support beams and carefully braced walls of the cellar. Behind her, she heard Pippa make a small noise of surprised dismay as one wall caved in, quickly bringing the others down with it. Circe’s roots continuing ripping and grasping, pulling at every board, sucking it all further into a pit.

Dimity covered her ears to block out the shrieks coming from inside the house as three witches were crunched into the earth with every other bit of the house. Her eyes remained on Circe, whose entire body was shaking with silent fury as she willed her magic to continue its work. Like a boiling kettle, Circe’s anger finally took voice, a long, single scream that overpowered the sound of snapping wood and collapsing earth.

Ada felt Hecate’s muscles tighten beneath her hand, felt the way Hecate leaned forward, as if she considered stopping Circe. But it was far too late for that now.

The house fully disappeared into the ground, and Circe fell forward, collapsing into a heap. Hecate was scrambling, crawling across the forest floor to her sister, gently leaning forward, laying over Circe like a protective shield.

Dimity could hear HB’s low murmurs, assuring Circe that it was all over, she was safe now. She heard Circe’s small whimpers in response: _I had to do it, Heck, I had to. Please forgive me_.

Dimity didn’t stop the tears welling in her eyes, slipping down her cheeks. There was so much brokenness, so much destruction all around them. The danger was gone but the world was still spinning out of control—when would it end, where would it end?

Hecate kept her head bent, kept her arm around Circe as she leaned into her, her lips by her sister’s ear as she continued her whispered assurances, “It’s alright, Circe, it’s alright…”

“I had to,” her sister whispered again, the plea for understanding etching every word. And oh, how Hecate understood—she understood more than Circe could ever truly know. It was about vengeance, but also survival, and protecting the ones you loved. Still, Circe tried to explain, “The Great Wizard—he wouldn’t—he couldn’t do what needed to be done.”

“I know,” Hecate answered quietly. It was true—the Great Wizard would have most likely imprisoned the witches for life. But Agatha had proven how ludicrous such a punishment could be, if you had enough determined witches on your side.

Hecate could also admit that if she hadn’t been worried about Ada’s reaction, she probably would have done the same thing. In fact, when she’d thrown Asteria back with the final push from her staff, she’d hoped the woman was dead. She was a danger, to Hecate and Ada and anyone around them—their family, their friends, their students. You did not let dangerous situations to continue. You put an end to them.

“They would have killed you,” Circe still felt the need to make her case. Still hadn’t gotten up, still wasn’t brave enough to look into her sister’s face, too afraid of what condemnation she might see there. “Without a moment’s hesitation, they gladly— _happily_ —would have killed us all. I couldn’t chance that again.”

“I know,” Hecate repeated, sitting up to rub methodical circles on her sister’s back. “Come along now.”

Pippa was still staring at rubble in horror. While she didn’t exactly blame Circe for her reaction (after all, the woman had just survived kidnapping and torture), she still couldn’t believe what had just happened. “What do we tell the Great Wizard?”

“Whatever you want,” Hecate gave a tired sigh. She was slowly moving to her feet, pulling her sister up as well. She wrapped a protective arm around Circe. “But I rather hope you won’t say anything at all.”

Pippa’s eyes widened at the implication. She glanced over at Dimity, who was watching her with cautious concern.

Hecate had a point, of course. They were the only ones who knew what had happened here. Still, there were other matters to consider, “What about the rest of the coven? Surely they’ll find out—I doubt they’ll just leave us be.”

“They don’t know who we are,” Dimity pointed out. “In fact, you’re probably the safest. If anyone’s a target, it’s Ada and HB.”

“And heaven knows, we’ve had plenty of practice in defending ourselves against their schemes,” Ada gave a weary sigh. She was on her feet as well, brushing the dirt and leaves from her skirt. She glanced over at Hecate, her face etched with soft sadness. “But right now, I’d rather focus on the more practical and pressing matters. We need to get out of here, and get everyone healed.”

Pippa took a moment to consider Miss Cackle’s words. She glanced back at Hecate, whose face was etched with a silent plea. With a sigh, she conceded, “Right. We should start moving, then. But once we’re all safe and in better health, I think we absolutely should discuss this further.”

Dimity nodded in agreement as the others voiced similar approvals. She wrapped her cloak around her more tightly, feeling the chill of the winter air.

The _winter_ air. She looked up at the sky, frowning as she realized how much colder it seemed. “Bats, I think Asteria’s little protective spell around the woods has broken.”

“Which means we can fly out of here,” Pippa pointed out. “Dimity, you and I can transfer out, grab the brooms, make sure they can actually make it through the barrier, and then come back.”

She didn’t bother considering Ada for the task. It was clear that the woman wasn’t letting Hecate out of her sight.

Dimity nodded in agreement, walking over to take Pippa’s hand. Closing her eyes, she visualized the markers she’d left at the edge of the forest (only yesterday, how was it only yesterday), and away they went.

Circe stepped away from her sister slightly, gently pushing her forward. “Go. I think Miss Cackle needs you more than I do.”

Hecate opened her mouth to object, but when she glanced over at Ada, she realized that Circe was right. The woman was shaking, barely holding herself together. She’d been so strong and so brave for Hecate, but every strength had its breaking point. Hecate closed the gap between them, her heart breaking all over again when she got close enough to see the tears shining in Ada’s eyes.

“It’s alright, I’m here,” she took Ada into her arms, keeping her voice low and soothing. Ada gratefully embraced her, and the force of her sob against Hecate’s shoulder made her step back, thrown slightly off-balance. “I’m here, Ada, I’m here.”

“I know,” Ada assured her, voice still muffled by Hecate’s body. “And I’m just so glad that you are.”

With a light sigh, she added in a heartbreakingly small voice, “I don’t know if I’ve ever been happier.”

Hecate placed a light kiss on Ada’s temple, her own heart surging with quiet gratefulness as well. She remembered her promise from earlier and smiled as she gently stepped back, making sure Ada was looking into her eyes as she spoke. “Well, I’ll take that as a personal challenge, Ada Cackle. Because I love you, and I absolutely refuse to let this be the happiest moment of your life.”

_I will spend the rest of my life making you happy, finding every way possible to make you smile, doing whatever it takes to ensure that this isn’t even the top one hundred happiest moments of your life. I love you, I love you, I love you, you brilliant woman, and I will make you feel it every day._ That was what her heart promised, even if her lips couldn’t quite muster the courage to utter such things. _Not yet_ , her mind corrected. Not yet, but soon.

Ada was beaming now, face smudged with ash and earth, eyes lined with exhaustion, still as beautiful as ever. Hecate’s heart leapt in her throat, still as completely enthralled by that smile as always.

“Just kiss already!” Circe yelled in the distance.

Ada burst into laughter and Hecate rolled her eyes at her little sister’s antics. With a wave of her hand, Ada surrounded them in a bubble of invisibility, knowing full well that Hecate wouldn’t want a public display. She laughed again when she heard Circe’s cry of, “Ah, spoilsport!”

Hecate must have realized what Ada had done, because she was leaning forward, hands gently cupping Ada’s face as she leaned into a kiss, soft and grateful. Ada felt another flood of tears brimming in her eyes—she tasted salt and realized that Hecate was crying, too, still delicately caressing Ada’s lips with her own, as if she feared breaking her. She wrapped her arms around Hecate, pulling her closer, feeling immeasurable gratitude for the solidness beneath her hands, for the fact that she was still Hecate, still here, still alive, still with her. She felt Hecate’s surety grow, the kiss becoming more insistent. Hecate’s fingers slipped further around, pressing into the back of Ada’s neck as her tongue slid into Ada’s mouth with easy familiarity, as if it had always belonged there.

Ada couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped as electricity jolted through her brain. Hecate’s teeth were out now, pulling at Ada’s bottom lip—still so gentle, but Ada could feel the strength behind the lightness, knew there was so much more that Hecate was holding back.

_Oh, I can’t wait to unleash you, Hecate Hardbroom_ , her brain bubbled at the thought and her blood sang in anticipation.

Hecate suddenly pulled back, as if she’d just realized what she was doing. Ada suppressed a whine at the loss. She quickly brought that wonderful mouth back to hers, letting her own tongue assure Hecate that her actions were more than welcome. She wanted to bite back, but she was still highly aware of their surroundings and current situation (more so than Hecate was, apparently, she thought with a wry smirk). For now, she contented herself with letting her tongue explore Hecate’s mouth, sliding around Hecate’s tongue with electric ease.

“Ada,” Hecate broke from the kiss but kept her lips so close to Ada’s, kept their foreheads together, noses brushing against each other. “Ada, we should—”

“We should,” Ada agreed, still not pulling away, either. Hecate stayed there a beat longer, loathe to break this moment but knowing it had to end. “But just a moment more. Let’s just…have a moment more.”

Hecate’s forehead shifted against Ada’s, a slight nod of agreement as she hummed her approval (as if she could deny this woman anything). Her arms were folded between her chest and Ada’s, the reassuring weight of Ada’s arms resting against her waist, Ada’s breath lightly ghosting over her skin—this was real, this was real, this was real, her mind assured her. They were alive, they were safe, they were here, together again.

“I accept, by the way,” Ada whispered, closing her eyes for a moment.

Hecate was confused, but Ada explained, “Your personal challenge, to make sure this isn’t the happiest moment of my life. Hit me with your best shot, Hecate Hardbroom.”

Ada took a moment to watch Hecate’s reaction, to see the confusion melt into a breathless smile. Her own heart was skidding and thudding about like a happy puppy (how was it possible to still feel this anxious, this giddy, this _young_ , with someone she’d known so deeply for so long?). She felt the tears coming again, tears of joyous relief. She gently brought her mouth back to Hecate’s, placing a single kiss before quietly adding, “I love you.”

She felt the shudder that ran down Hecate’s spine at those three little words, felt the surge of delight through her own body. She marveled at this complete juxtaposition—Hecate, strong enough to wield a staff, powerful enough to win against a witch like Asteria Allbright, brave enough to walk into the jaws of death time and again, reduced to a shiver by a simple sentence.

Except it wasn’t simple, Ada knew. It was twenty years in the making, made more potent in the waiting and the breaking and the resetting. A gentle truth that had been there for years, yet still amazed with its reality, still astounded and delighted both its bearer and its receiver.

Hecate’s lips were wandering, gently kissing up the tracks left by Ada’s tears. She gently lifted Ada’s glasses to kiss her eyelids, silently infusing a prayer with each invisible mark she left— _please shine again, shine with joy, not fear or even relief, just pure joy._ _Please be happy again, please be Ada again, please let me fill these beautiful eyes with goodness and light._

She kissed the space between Ada’s brows, smiling at the way Ada pressed forward, gratefully accepting each token of affection. She felt Ada’s small kiss on her chin in response, and she found herself praying the woman’s mouth wouldn’t stray too far—she was already an exhausted mess, what little energy she had left was rapidly fraying as it tried to restrain her urges to devour Ada whole, to wrap her into a flurry of grateful oblivion, to lose herself in every aspect of Ada, in every way possible, to make them both forget the terror and the darkness still surrounding them.

“We really should—” This time, she did take a step back, knowing physical distance was the only way she could fight her urge to push for more. Clearing her throat and ducking her head, Hecate tried to regain self-control. “The others will be back soon.”

“Right. Of course,” Ada gave a quick nod of agreement, hands dropping to clasp in front of her. There was time, she knew—time to continue this conversation, this exploration into the unknown (except how could it be considered unknown, when they’d both agreed that this was heading in a certain direction, when they both knew what would happen, how this would go?). She removed the invisibility spell, smiling slightly when she realized that Circe had wandered off a few yards, giving them privacy even though they were already hidden from her sight.

“I have to admit, I was beginning to wonder,” Circe was walking back to them, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “You seemed to be…taking your time.”

“You’re particularly insufferable for someone who just had her life saved,” Hecate drawled, arching her brow in feigned disapproval.

“Ungratefulness was always one of my strongest charms,” Circe gave an impish grin. Hecate rolled her eyes. Her arms still opened, which Circe gladly filled.

They didn’t have to wait long for Pippa and Dimity to arrive, broomsticks descending like angels of mercy. Hecate had Circe ride with her, and soon all five witches were in the air again, headed back to the academy.

Night had fallen by the time they’d arrived, the girls all fast asleep in their beds. Pippa and Dimity vanished the brooms, quickly moving to open the heavy wooden doors of the main entrance. Hecate kept her hand on the small of Circe’s back, gently guiding her forward.

She stopped when she realized that Ada wasn’t following. With a gesture for Circe to join the others, Hecate gingerly crunched her way across the thick blanket of snow, back to Ada’s side.

Ada turned to smile at her, face lined with exhaustion. With a nod towards the inky night sky, she quietly said, “It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Hecate agreed, her eyes never leaving Ada’s face. “Absolutely beautiful.”

Ada blushed, her heart trilling at the admiration that flooded Hecate’s features. They were still both caked in dirt, faces smudged with smoke and ash, hair wild from the fight and the flight—and yet Hecate looked upon her as if she were a great work of art, a masterpiece, a sight beyond compare.

“Come along,” Hecate extended her hand. “You’ve forgotten your mittens once again, Ada Cackle.”

The admonishment was completely lost in the love-soaked tone, further eradicated by the soft smile on her lips, but Hecate didn’t really care.

Ada took a moment to simply gaze at the sight before her. Hecate standing there with quiet expectation, her dark robes gently outlined by the falling snow, the light of the torches along the pathway dancing softly across her features, holding out her hand for Ada.

She remembered a night, a night that seemed so long ago—during the chaos of Hecate’s faux engagement, there had been an evening where she had suggested that they retire for the night. And Ada’s foolish ( _not so foolish, she now realized_ ) heart had so desperately wished that she could give those words in a different context, that it had meant retiring together, instead of to separate places, so far apart in all ways. How she’d imagined taking Hecate’s hand and letting her lead her into something softer, something warmer than the reality of their lives.

And now that softness, that warmth _was_ the reality of their lives—of their _life_ , their singular path together. Ada smiled as she gently took a step forward, into reality, into a waking dream, a wish come true.

She took Hecate’s hand, noting the way Hecate’s own lips curved into a soft smile as she moved forward, quietly leading the way back into the academy.

Leading the way back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I really wanted to keep this entire storyline relatively T-rated or below. Which means *technically*, this is where our journey ends.
> 
> But also...like...emotional fulfillment. I feel like it would be a shitty-ass move on my part to keep up a slow burn for this long without a happy ending (pun absolutely intended). So there is an E-rated follow up, "Neither Timid nor Tame", coming in the next 2-3 days. And yeah, it's also kinda shitty-ass to tack on YET ANOTHER part to this story, but I swear I'll stop J.K. Rowling it and leave it at one last addition, mkay?
> 
> So it's basically a choose-your-own-ending thing. If you wanted a sweet, soft, relatively tame love story, this is where you leave us. If you wanted smut with LOTS of build up and feelings, come back and see me.
> 
> Either way, it's been a helluva ride. Thanks for choosing to come along, chickadees.


End file.
